


The Flight of Robyn

by DaisyAnneWinchester



Category: Merlin (TV), The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And potentially, Archery, As well, Canon Era, Contains Trigger Warning, Episode: s04e12-13 The Sword in the Stone, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Game of Thrones - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, I realize I'm bad a tagging, I've never done this before, LMK If I need to tag something, Lancelot (Merlin) Lives, M/M, My First AO3 Post, My First Fanfic, My First Work in This Fandom, Nods to different Fandoms, Then goes from there, WitcherCrossover, bear with me, first fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:47:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22452133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyAnneWinchester/pseuds/DaisyAnneWinchester
Summary: Robyn is… not a good person. Or so she thinks. She kills without remorse and steals from the people she kills. She lets her emotions control her. She is brash and blunt and has trouble trusting those close to her. Not to mention the hidden devil that stirs inside her skin at all hours. Only question is who is the real Robyn? The one everyone sees or the one shoved down deep in her bones?
Comments: 13
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

The woman gasps, collapsing back into the bed as the midwife cuts the cord and holds the wailing baby up for the mother to see. The father comes in, beaming, to take the little girl into his arms and perches himself on the side of the bed with his wife, cooing quietly to the infant in his arms. The mother grins in adoration at the small bundle.  
  
“What will you be naming the child?” the doula asks.  
  
The man and woman look at each other for a moment before the wife answers “Robyn” and the midwife pens the name on the parchment along with the height, weight and gender of the child before cleaning up and excusing herself, leaving the new family to get some rest.

*****

Later that night, as the young man and woman sleep, there is a rustle from the window, a flutter of fabric, and the curtains part as a figure steps through the window, carrying a bundle in its arms. However, this is no ordinary man. His eyes shone a bright purple, his ears came to a pointed end and his whole five-foot frame seems to resonate a golden glow. The being moves towards the baby in the cradle, peering down at the innocent face as she sleeps, completely oblivious to the intruder. The man places his bundle down next to Robyn. The blanket falls away to reveal another baby, this one slightly smaller than the first but otherwise similar in the way all infants are. He picks up Robyn, careful not to awaken her and moves to the window, leaving his baby behind. With one last glance to the mother and father, still fast asleep in their bed, and a whispered goodbye to the baby, he leapt out of the window into the night.

*****

The woman wakes to the wailing of a baby and rises. Shuffling over to the cradle, she leans down to scoop up the baby. “Hush little one, we wouldn’t want to wake your father would we,” she asks and holding the intruder’s baby close to her chest, she kisses her forehead.  
  
“My little Robyn.”

***************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Robyn glances around quickly and noticing no one watching, steals into the palace kitchens. Many people are crowded inside as the Feast of Beltane was today, everyone is working tirelessly to make sure there is enough food for the feast. Pies are laying out to be cooled, and great slabs of pork and capons are left out on the counter to be carried into the dining hall. It smells heavenly and Robyn’s mouth waters.  
  
“Oi! You there! What ya’ doin’ in mah kitchens?!” A woman of great proportion bellows at her, waving a whisk in a menacing gesture, sending bits of gravy flying in all directions.  
  
Robyn puts on a startled face and cowers away from the whisk, “N-nothin’! I was told by my lord to offer my services to you for the feast. He said you needed all the help you could get.”  
  
The woman studies her for a long moment.  
  
“Um… ma’am, your gravy’s burning.”  
  
She whirls around to tend to her gravy and waves a dismissive hand in Robyn’s general direction. “Just grab somethin’ and take it out to the hall. And don’t get in mah way!” She hollers to Robyn’s retreating form.  
  
Robyn smirks, carrying a big tray of various meats and sausages. She turns toward the dining hall and right before she reaches the door, turns left and sneaks down the hallway, quickly wrapping the meat and stuffing the meat into her satchel and disposing of the tray. As she makes her way out of the castle, she grabs an armful of linens off an abandoned cart and carries that out past the gates, her head ducked so her dark brownish burgundy hair swings forward to cover her face. No one stops to question a maid carrying laundry. She wanders through the middle town into the lower town. She reaches up to her throat and tucks the pendant hanging there into her tunic away from wandering thieving hands. She stops in the homeless sector and passes out most of her winnings and her linens before heading back to her quarters above the tavern of the lower town. It is no Rising Sun but the price for a room is much cheaper. Robyn climbs up to the roof and perches herself with her legs over the edge, watching the people of the lower town down below, the daily shuffle of people going about their lives.  
  
“I do love a good feast,” she chuckles to herself and pulls out two sausages, a chicken leg and an apple. Settling in to enjoy her mini feast she surveys the hills and mountains in front of her.  
  
She is halfway through her meal, fiddling with her leather necklace absentmindedly, when a light catches her eye coming from one of the castle windows. It is a torch, waving back and forth. She whips her head to the trees looking for a responding signal. And sure enough, along the line of trees, she sees another torch wave back and many figures pass under its wavering light. Brow furrowing, she tucks her necklace into her tunic. She folds up her food and takes a bite of her apple, keeping it in her mouth as she moves from the roof into her room. She kneels to get under her bed and pulls out her leather bag. Reaching into the bag she pulls out and fastens her quiver to her leg and the second to her back. She rummages back into her bag and pulls out her two knives, strapping one to her thigh and the other to her forearm. Lastly, she delves back under the bed and wraps her hand around her bow, slings it onto her back and runs downstairs, ears straining for any noises out of the ordinary. Taking a bite of her apple she gestures the bar owner toward her. Bandu looks at her, decked out in her weapons, and his eyes widen, the whites of his eyes standing out against his dark skin.  
  
“You may want to be on the look-out. Something is going happening. I think someone is coming. Get your family to safety,” Robyn murmurs to him, head ducked low. He nods and scurries off.  
  
She moves through the lower town, sticking to the shadows and glances back, only to see smoke rise from the sky. Robyn curses under her breath and shuffles through the crowd of people who have also noticed the fires being set in the lower town. As she moves through the gates, she passes two knights urging people away from the fire and hears one yell to the other to go sound the alarm bells. She turns to see what he means, and her eyes widen as they take in the hoard of men charging through, swords swinging wildly. Sadly, she drops her apple to the ground and ducks into a nearby house, climbing the ladder to the second story. She leans out of the window to haul herself onto the roof. From there, she leaps onto the wall and flips her small frame over the edge, feet landing steadily on top of the wall where there is a platform for the guards to stand, abandoned now in lieu of the battle below. Robyn removes her bow, reaches down to grab an arrow, nocks, pulls back and releases, not watching as it imbeds itself in the center of one of the men’s chest, too busy drawing and releasing another arrow into her next victim.  
  
She does this steady draw and release for the next twenty minutes before she hears a cry over the peals of the warning bells.  
  
“Retreat! Retreat!” one of the knights’ waves frantically for his comrades to fall back. She curses and crouches down out of sight as the gate is overwhelmed and the army throngs into the citadel to a chorus of “Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen!”  
  
With a heavy heart, she watches from her perch as the city and lower town goes up in flames.  
  
  
“Fucking Morgana,” Robyn whispers in angry disgust. She leaps from her perch back onto the roof and to the ground, tucking and rolling to break her fall.  
  
She surveys the quiet street in front of her, littered with bodies of both friend and foe. She picks through the bodies, pulling as many of her arrows as she can and sheathing them back in her quiver. She keeps one arrow knocked at all times and a keen eye out for any movements as she picks amongst the bodies. She relieves a few of their knives but does not touch any of the fallen knights.  
  
With a sigh, she leaves the citadel and moves to the lower town where people are still scrambling hurriedly to put out fires. She joins them for the next few hours, leading the injured to safety and hauling buckets of water until all the fires are put out. By the time the fires are put out, Robyn is exhausted. She slowly makes her way back through the lower town, her heart panging and sinking as she sees bodies of men, women and children littering the cobblestone roads. She spots the tavern up ahead, thankfully still standing and lets out a sigh of relief. She hobbles up the stairs and into her room, letting the door slam shut. She collapses on the bed and shoves her bow under her bed before falling asleep.

*****

She wakes up slowly in the early dawn of the morning, hearing yelling from the street below. Grumbling, her hand comes up to brush the pendant hanging from her neck away from her face. With a groan, she reaches under her bed for her bow and hauls herself to the window, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She surveys the ground below to find two men yelling and swinging at Bandu who is curled up on the ground outside the tavern. The two standing seem to be swordsmen decked out in the same garb as the invading army from last night. Her lip curls in disgust and she nocks two arrows at once, letting them loose on the pair, watching in grim satisfaction as they fall to the stones and do not get up. She sleepily gestures to the people gaping up at her to hang on just a moment and she makes herself trudge downstairs and gesture to one of the men toward the body of the one nearest the door.  
  
“Help me move them inside, yea? We don’t want others coming along to find the body,” she yawns and grabs the feet of one of the men but looks up when no one comes to aid her.  
  
“You just killed two of Helios’ men!” one of them exclaims.  
  
“Did I?” She answers tiredly. She trudges over to Bandu and helps him to his feet, giving him support until he is able to stand on his own. “Well come on then, we haven’t got all day.”  
  
She turns to the rest of the crowd. “It’s best if you all go back to your knitting,” and is met with nods from the group as they all disperse.  
  
Working together, Bandu and Robyn drag both bodies inside the empty tavern and barricade the door. Robyn guides the black barman to a chair where he sits as she examines the cut on his forehead. With him sitting and her standing, they are almost the same height. She grabs a rag from the bar to wipe the blood and smiles gently. “You’ll be alright, Bandu. Should heal in time. What did you say to get them all worked up?”  
  
Bandu looks at her slight figure and sighs. “They’ve been through the lower town demanding that we devote our allegiances to Morgana. I told them that King Arthur was the rightful ruler of Camelot and they did not take to that kindly.” His eyes such a dark brown they are almost black, stare into her blue eyes searchingly, “And what do you plan to do with the two bodies you have acquired?”  
  
Robyn stands there puzzled for a moment. “I hadn’t quite thought that through yet,” she smiles toothily, and the man rolls his eyes.  
  
“Well it needs to be soon; I’ve got to open the tavern. There’s a river about an hour’s ride into the Darkling woods, it’s deep enough you could dispose of the bodies there?” Robyn looks at the built man in front of her in surprise.  
  
“And just where did you acquire such knowledge?” She holds up a hand after considering for a moment. “Only joking, I really don’t want to know.” She thinks, “I won’t need that this time, they’re still doing cleanup from last night, I’ll just dump the bodies with the others.”  
  
Bandu looks at her tiny, five-foot frame and snorts. “And just how are you going to transport two men twice your size up to the citadel?”  
  
Robyn looks thoughtful. “You got a horse?”


	2. Chapter 2

Robyn rides through the city mid-afternoon, the two bodies slung over her horse’s back in front of her. She rides disguised in the clothes stripped from the smaller body, swapped with a change of clothes from Bandu. With the rags draped over her face and astride her horse, it’s difficult to distinguish that she is a woman and astride her horse, her size is easily hidden. Robyn approaches the gates to the castle courtyard where there are piles of bodies, both knights of Camelot and Helios’ army being piled by soldiers and men in chains. She is stopped at the gate by two of Helios’ men.

“Wha’ d’ya want?” One of the men barks at her and she rolls her eyes.

She doesn’t say anything but gestures at the two bodies.

They let her through, and she guides her horse over to a cluster of men dragging bodies into the pile to be burned. She recognized one of the men from last night, the black one told by the knight to sound the warning bells. She points to him and growls out of earshot of Helios’ men, “You there, get yer friend to stop making faces at the guards and come over here ta help me with these two.”

The man scowls at her and elbow his comrade who sticking his tongue out one last time before turning to her. The guard behind him, finally noticing his antics, raises his mace to strike. Robyn holds out her hand and grunts her displeasure.

The black man and his long-haired friend whirl around to see the guard lower his weapon and they share a confused look before turning those mistrustful stares to Robyn. Robyn in turn, huffs and gestures them toward her. “Well c’mon then. I won’t bite”

Robyn snickers quietly to herself and as the two men approach, she holds eye contact with them until she sees their eyes narrow and eyebrows furrow in realization. Satisfied that they saw her as the woman she is, she reaches up on the pretense of scratching her neck and lets her pendant get pulled out from her tunic to fall against her chest. It’s a simple black iron plate in diamond shape with a purple amethyst set in the middle surrounded by a ring of silver to resemble an eye. The leather string it hangs from is inscribed up and down with runes. She sees it catch the eye of the long-haired man before she tucks it back into her garment. They both step up to relieve her of the bodies and toss them onto the pile. She catches their eyes one last time and gives a slight nod before turning her horse around and riding back to the woods where she changes clothes, disposes of the soiled ones and pulls on trousers and a black tunic. She plaits her long red-brown hair down her back, gets back on the horse and rides for the tavern.

*****

Robyn gets into a sort of system after that. Killing a few of Morgana’s men every other day and dumping their bodies either in the river or on the castle doorstep; throwing all the half-made weapons in the blacksmiths shoppe back into the forge; upturning the armory into a right disaster. At each site she leaves a small message, a bit of parchment with the words _Fuck you, get out of Camelot_ written on it with a small drawing of a sparrow underneath, fastened somewhere on the scene of the crime with an arrowhead. If she cannot kick Morgana out of Camelot, she can at least make it damn hard for her to rule.

On day seventeen of Morgana’s reign, Robyn ghosts through the lower town. There is no curfew, but no one stays in the streets toward sundown and she does not want to be questioned smelling of smoke with soot on her face and singed clothing as Morgana’s chambers smolder in the castle behind her. She steps inside the tavern, catching Bandu’s eye and waves. He waves back, gesturing her to him eagerly. Her eyebrow raises and glancing around the mostly empty tavern, she heads toward the corner of the table where Bandu is sitting with three other men across from him looking excited. Before she can open her mouth, Bandu bubbles over and spills out, “These are other men I have met here in the tavern. They are here to join your uprising!”

Robyn stares at him for a moment, “My uprising? I was not aware I was starting an uprising, _Bandu_.”

Bandu flushes, or at least Robyn assumes he does because his cheeks turn a darker shade of brown, and retraces his steps, “Well, at least, these men do not want to stand by as Morgana rules over Camelot. I was telling them of the feats you’ve accomplished, and they want to help!”

He beams but Robyn quells him with a glare. She moves over to sit next to Bandu across from the three men. She turns her scowl onto the three men who are staring at her in surprise. “What?” she growls out. She would feel apologetic for being so rude, but she is tired and has got smoke in her lungs that she wants to cough up somewhere _in private_. Not to mention there is soot in places she does not want soot to be.

The man on the left raises his hands in a defensive gesture, “Just a bit surprised, that’s all. Did not expect you to be so…”

“Tiny?”

The guy shrugs in a what-can-you-do gesture.

Robyn brushes it off, too used to comments about her size to be much offended. “What are you doin’ here? What d’ya want?”

The three men looked at each other, communicating silently. The man in the middle speaks and when he does it is in a hushed whisper, “I heard of a shipment coming in soon for Helios’ army. Food and ale. It’s two days out and coming in from Cenred’s kingdom.”

“And what would you have me do with said shipment?”

The man on the right speaks, having been quiet so far, “Seize it. Destroy it. Set it on fire. Does it matter? Just make sure it doesn’t get to Morgana’s men.”

Robyn nods slowly, processing the information in her head. “The tip is much appreciated. I could use the help if you are offering but there is no slight on your honor if you don’t. I’m sure each of you has got people to protect. If we’re gonna do this I need commitment from you. I don’t wanna know your names… that’s too dangerous in case one of us gets caught. But no backing out. Once we start, we finish, yea?”

The three men glance at each other but nod solemnly and Robyn rises to shake each of their hands, “Come by the tavern tomorrow night. I’ll have a plan by then and will fill you in on the details. This doesn’t get out of this group, you hear?”

Without waiting for a response, she turns her back, squeezes Bandu’s shoulder in farewell, and heads up to her room where there is a wash basin full of water waiting for her.

She sleeps that night with anticipation coiled in her gut, the prospect of a plan of attack formulating in her mind.

*****

It’s a cool evening, the sun just setting through the trees as Robyn situates herself on the roof of the building across from the tavern, the sun at her back. She’s dressed in dark colors, deep green tunic and black trousers with her black boots on. Her pendant is tucked safely into her shirt and she has a black scarf tied over her mouth, covering her nose to her neck and comes up over her head to act as a hood. Her hair is half plaited, the rest hanging down her back. Her knives are sheathed at her ankle and forearm, her quivers to her back and hip. She has one arrow drawn at the ready for the signal.

Down below, few people mill about, most heading inside for the night, not wanting to encounter Helios’ night patrol. She hears the far-off sound of hooves on cobblestone and the clatter of wagon wheels and crouches low out of sight behind the chimney of the roof she is on. Her heart races but she doesn’t move a muscle.

They come around the bend, two men, one guiding the reigns of the horses as they walk and the other sitting on the back of the wagon, one arm out to keep the cargo in place the other resting on his sword. Right before they reach the tavern, the tavern door bangs open and two men come tumbling out, seeming drunk and swinging at each other. They fall in front of the procession and the man brings the horses to a stop, glaring down at the men in obvious distaste. He shouts something in a different language, but the men don’t get up, instead rolling and tussling on the ground, fists flying wide. One stray fist land on the nose of Helios’ soldier and he yells out. At the sound of his comrade in pain, the man sitting with the cargo jumps down and strides quickly to the front to investigate the commotion. He draws his sword and the two drunks draw theirs. Signal received, she let loose her first arrow into the barrel at the back of the cart, sighing sadly as perfectly good ale pours out of the cart to the ground. At her signal, Bandu and the third man emerge from the shadows and make for the back of the cart, quickly unloading four crates and a barrel.

“Such a waste of good ale” she mutters sadly and draws another arrow, monitoring the fight down in front of her.

It’s not going very well, Morgana’s men obviously more well trained in combat than the two seemingly drunk men. She lets loose an arrow into the shoulder of one of the Queen’s men and another into the third barrel, leaving the fourth untouched. She turns back to see the two drunks bringing the last man to the ground and the four of them, Bandu and her three musketeers (as she likes to call them), load the bodies onto the wagon, propped up to look like they’re sleeping. Robyn quickly slides down the roof and jumps from there to a table and to the ground, slinging her bow across her back and grabbing the reigns of the horses, soothing them to a standstill.

She turns to the four men behind her, “Bandu, take the goods we got and store them in your cellar, the three of you,” she turns to her musketeers, “I don’t want to see you for at least a week. Don’t speak of this to anyone and stay alert.”

She salutes them and gives them a smile. Even though they can’t see it behind her scarf they can see it in her eyes. The turn away and vanish into the dark of night. She turns to the barman beside her as she hears the clop of hooves far off down the road behind them, “I’ve got to go before patrol catches up, get inside and wish me luck.”

Bandu pats her on the shoulder and she tugs on the reigns, guiding the wagon through the lower town and up toward the citadel. Shortly before she arrives at the gates, she drops the reigns letting the horses carry on without her. Melting into the space between buildings, she grabs an arrow and sets it between her teeth, the parchment dangling from the end tickling her neck. She pulls another arrow, this one with ale-soaked cloth around the shaft and stretches out, lighting the tip on the nearest torch. The carriage nears the guards at the gate and is stopped. She hears the men bark questions and orders before going up to prod the body propped up in the front, only for it to topple over. At the shouts of alarm, she raises her arrow high and fires it into the last barrel of mead. It bursts into flames, coating the rest of the cargo and startling the horses to rear up, their front hooves connect with the chain mailed chest of one of the guards, sending him flying back and to the ground. She lets go of her final arrow, nodding grimly as it imbeds into the meat of the guard’s thigh, the tag hanging from the end. With his howl of pain and frantic neighing of the horses to her back, she flattens herself into the shadows, the smell of burning wood reaching her nose. She slinks through the streets as doors open and people pour through to observe the happenings. She blends with the crowd and heads away from the scene with a smirk and a muttered, “Enjoy your shipment, your Highness.”

*****

Helios approaches Morgana on the throne, an arrow clutched in his hand, “Morgana, I-,”

“Another one?! First my army, my bed chambers, now what?” Morgana strides down the steps and snatches the arrow from him. She studies it for a moment before reading the words on the parchment and taking in the drawing of a bird. Her hand tightens and with a mumble the parchment turns to ash and slips through her fingers. She turns her back to Helios, her shoulders tense.

“What was it this time?” she asks over her shoulder, her voice quiet. Her grip is white knuckled on the arrow shaft.

“A wagon from Cenred’s kingdom. Food and ale for the men.”

“Can we survive without?”

“Not if it happens again.”

“Increase security on shipments,” Morgana turns to Helios, a small smile on her face. “And stop feeding the prisoners. After all, it is _their_ people who did this.”

******

Robyn moves down the wall away from the portcullis, her back pressed to the stones. Her ears strain to hear the clink of chainmail of passing guards up on the wall above her. She withdraws two arrows and holds them in her hand. As she hears the telltale chink of armor she reaches down for a rock at her feet. She tosses it into the underbrush, the rustle drawing the attention of the guards. With quick movements, she nocks both arrows at once and pulls the string taunt. Aiming up at the rampart she lets them loose once she sees their faces peer over, watching in grim satisfaction as they embed themselves up through the soft flesh underside of their chin and into the head of both guards. Their heads snap back, but with them leaning over the wall, they topple over onto the ground in front of her. She slings her bow on her back and moves toward the bodies, grabbing the feet of one of the guards to haul him into the woods when she hears it.

Chattering.

She freezes and listens.

The sound seems to be coming from her feet and she casts her eyes around the wall, looking for a window. She finds one two paces ahead at the very base of the wall. It’s about two feet wide and only a half foot tall, barely tall enough for her to fit an arm inside. It’s made impossible by the bars running vertical down the opening.

 _Prisoners?_ She thinks.

She crouches down and listens. She hears whispering and clears her throat pointedly.

The whispering halts instantaneously. “Sorry to interrupt but to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

There is a sound of shuffling and she kneels to peer inside. She sees a gloomy dank room and a cell door on the opposite wall. She spots an elderly man lying on a cot in the far corner. A dark-skinned man appears in front of her that she vaguely recognizes as one of the two men from the courtyard. He responds, “Sir Elyan. Knight to King Arthur. Who are you?”

“Um… you can just call me,” she thinks for a moment about giving her real name but decides, “Sparrow. Concerned citizen of Camelot.”

Elyan pauses for a moment but nods in acquiescence. “What are you doing so far from the city, my lady?”

“Heh. I’m no lady, Sir Elyan.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Hiding some bodies.”

This raises an eyebrow.

Before she can respond she hears shuffling and grunting. She ducks away and listens as the cell door rattles open, the slap of skin on stone and the clang of the door slamming shut. Robyn peeks in to see Sir Elyan helping his long-haired friend from before off the floor.

“What’s wrong with your friend?”

“He’s been fighting every day. For our food. Except now we’re not getting any food for it. There’s been uprisings in the lower towns and there was an attack on their food supply, so they stopped feeding the prisoners every day.”

Robyn’s neck burned in shame. She didn’t consider the impact of her actions on the people of Camelot in Morgana’s possession.

“Ah, Pendant Lady. We meet again. Name’s Gwaine, yours?”

“Sparrow.”

“Ah. I do wish we could have met under less dire circumstances. What’s a fine lady like yourself doin’ down here?” he asks with a flirtatious grin but ruins it with a grimace and a clutch to his ribs.

Robyn cringes in sympathy and responds, “Just hiding some bodies.”

Gwaine’s eyebrows furrow as his eyes narrow but he doesn’t say anything.

Robyn sighs, “Now, if you two don’t mind, I’m off to hide these bodies before the next patrol discovers them. Good day…” Her eyes stray to Gwaine’s bruises and cuts, “or maybe not. Um… I’ll- yea. I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere. Or well- not that you can, obviously. Bye.”

Robyn turns her back, shaking her head at her foolishness and hauls the first body off and onto her horse waiting for her in the woods. She returns to drag the second body, ignoring the way both Elyan and Gwaine are watching her every move from the limited view of their cell window. She disappears from their sight and pulls the body on top of the first over the back of her horse. She leads her horse toward the river, intent on getting rid of them and heading back to her room for a good meal and a cold tankard of ale. Killing really does raise one’s appetite.

*****

Robyn manages to make it back to the window two days later, her satchel heavy with goods. She sends out a bird whistle and crouches by their window. Elyan looks up and elbows Gwaine, nodding toward the window. They both rise and Elyan moves to the cell door while Gwaine steps up to the window.

“My lady Sparrow. It’s so nice to see you again,” Gwaine grins at her and she rolls her eyes.

She shoves her hand into her pack and pulls out her water skin, passing it through the bars. He raises an eyebrow and accepts that along with the bread she hands him. He moves to the old man still lying on the cot and she cocks her head curiously. She watches as he urges the elderly man into a sitting position and to drink and eat some of the food before he moves back to the window.

She asks in a hushed voice, her eyes still trained on the hunched man, “Who is that?”

“Gaius, the court physician and a friend of mine.”

Robyn nods. She always thought the knights to be a sort of selfish bunch, looking out for their own wellbeing over that of the elderly or the weak. She processed this new train of thought as she handed over some dried meat for Elyan and Gwaine along with some more bread.

“Unfortunately, that’s all I have for you at the moment. I’ll be back tomorrow with any more food I can spare. I really must go before they patrol out here.”

Elyan leaves his post at the door and moves to the window. Gwaine takes his place at the door. Elyan watches her for a moment, eyes studying her. He hands back the water skin as he says, “We cannot thank you enough. When all this is over, come find us and I’m sure Arthur will reward you greatly.”

Robyn scowls, “I don’t want your rewards. It’s not right what Morgana is doing. Any sane person would be trying to right it, just like I am. Morgana out of Camelot is reward enough.”

Robyn nods to the three of them and rises, moving into the forest to take the longer route through the trees back to the lower town to give her more time to consider the foreign actions of someone putting others before themselves. 

Over the next week, she is able to bring food four more times to Gaius, Elyan and Gwaine. She stays to chat and with Gaius’ help, create a part of her next plan.

*****

Robyn hunkers down, keeping away from the flickering firelight that is lighting up the night. She listens to the chatter of the men around the fire slowly peter out and the slump of bodies. She moves out from behind the tent and grins at the sight before her: each and every one of them fast asleep, some fallen sideways, others leaning against each other, one even slumped backwards and sprawled out on the ground. Robyn whistles and Bandu emerges from the trees, laden down with empty packs.

Robyn spreads her arms out in a showman’s gesture, “Ta-da!” She beams at him and claps her hands once. “Alright, take all the food and weapons. Any clothes you don’t take get thrown in the fire. Burn the tent and the bedrolls. Leave the waterskins, they’re not good anymore. Anything you can’t carry gets burned.”

“What if they wake up?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. They’ll be out for a few hours yet.”

“What’d you give them?”

“A sleeping draught. Gaius instructed me on how to cook it up. He’s a good teacher, that one.”

“And you’re sure it works?”

“How was your nap yesterday?”

“Quite splendid thanks but what’s that got to do…” there’s a pause before, “Oh.”

“Cheers mate.”

Robyn and Bandu proceed to pick through the men’s belongings, putting knives, food and plain under clothes into their satchels. They pick amongst them until they can carry no more, setting their bulging bags aside and set fire to the rest. Robyn takes the time to leave her signature parchment and arrow stabbed through the water skin of one of the men. With a burning tent and roaring fire piled high with clothes and bed rolls and scabbards to their backs, they set off on their long walk toward the tavern, their arms overflowing.

She feels a prickle along the back of her neck and stops. Bandu looks back at her, raising his eyebrow in question. She gestures for him to keep going and he does, only looking back once before she can’t see him anymore and he’s gone. Robyn gently lowers her packs to the ground and toes them under some underbrush. She reaches back for her bow, unslinging it and nocks an arrow. She scans the tree line, making out a few shoulders and heads in the dark. She takes a deep breath and aims at the first head she sees.

She feels the sharp point of a blade in the middle of her back and jumps forward, whipping around to confront her immediate attacker with an arrow to the face. Looking down the end of her shaft she is met with a bulky chest clad in a plain tunic pulled tight across his chest but with the Pendragon crest on his blood red cape draped over hulking shoulders. Her heart skips a beat as she slowly looks up, and her eyebrows crawl into her hairline. This man is massive, biggest she’s seen that’s not monster. His thighs are giant, as big as she is round. This man’s arms are tree trunks, as big as her thighs and could surely snap her in two, if for some reason she doesn’t get run through first. His shoulders are broad, the sleeves having been ripped off his tunic. She’s sure the stitches would not have held anyways. He towers above her by at least a foot and a half, her head only comes to his chest. He’s looking down at her without anger, this is clearly on principle and he seems thoroughly entertained by the sight of her, if the raised eyebrow and small smirk on his curious puppy face are anything to go by. Which is- annoying. Yes, she may be small but she is full of surprises and certainly a force to be reckoned with despite her stature. Not that he knows any of this yet. She raises her arrow higher to be pointed at the face of this massive man instead of his chest and doesn’t back down, glaring at him defiantly. She hears rustling behind her and sees in her periphery as three more men step into the clearing. Two of them with swords drawn, she knows she doesn’t stand a chance, even if they are knights of Camelot. She’s sure that once her packs are discovered, all the wrong assumptions will be made, and her head put on a chopping block for thievery.

“Lower your weapon and state your name,” orders one of the men she can’t see. Robyn does not lower her weapon but does offer with great resistance:

“... Sparrow.”

Looks are exchanged around the four men as if that name is of significance and one of them, a scrawny mousy one with dark brown hair, beams as if he’s received good news and turns to the blonde next to him. They whisper furiously.

“And who are you, big fellow?” she turns her gaze back on the small mountain in front of her, his sword still at her throat and her arrow still pointed up his nose. A battle of wills she will not lose. His smirk grows to a small smile. 

“Sir Percival, knight of Camelot,” he states plainly, his sword steady. He opens his mouth to speak but is cut off.

“You’re the Sparrow? The leader of the uprising inside Camelot?” the scrawny boy steps forward eagerly as he speaks, and Robyn raises an eyebrow at him but nods in affirmation.

“We’ve been hearing about you from people you’ve helped escape Camelot. Did you really set fire to Morgana’s bed? And that thing with the food supply cart? Can you really shoot two- “?

“ _Mer_ lin,” the blonde exclaims, “that’s enough out of you.” He turns to Robyn, “I am King Arthur of Camelot. Are you who Merlin says you are?”

Both her eyebrows raise in surprise and she eyes the king up and down in his armor. “Huh. Thought you woulda looked more… old.”

With careful consideration, she lowers her bow but doesn’t sheath her arrow. She feels the tip of Percival’s sword lower. She steps back to join the circle of men around her so she can face the group and eyes the four of them. “I am the Sparrow. I’ve been leading the resistance inside Camelot since Morgana’s reign. There are many inside Camelot waiting on you, sire, their rightful king, to take back the throne. I’ve just come from one of Helios’ patrol camps set up near Mercia,” she hesitates for a moment before dragging the bags out from the underbrush and drop them at the kings feet with a smirk, “Picked them dry before I left, your Highness.”

The other of King Arthur’s knights, tall with longer curly blond hair, kneels down to rummage through the bad, dumping out a few knives and trousers and a gauntlet. He looks up at her in skepticism, as if thievery is beneath him. Which it probably is, being a knight of Camelot, yet Robyn has no qualms. He rises and regards her, “We need to get inside Camelot. Can you help us?”

Robyn ponders for a moment, “I believe so. I can get you guard rotation hours, patrol schedules and possibly inside the walls. Maybe a few more weapons.”

King Arthur nods, “That will suffice. Let us meet by the river in a days time. My men will find you. Camelot thanks you, madame.”

Robyn sweeps up her new belongings and bows dramatically.

“Gentlemen,” she drawls and disappears from view into the trees with a wink.

*****

Morgana shrieks, flustered and angry, “I WANT THEM FOUND!”

She takes a deep breath and smiles coldly at Helios, “Bring them to me so I may have their head on a spike.”

The arrow clenched in her fingers splinters in half.

*****

The following day finds Robyn relaxing up high in a tree looking down at the river rushing before her. It’s a fine day, the air clear and erring on the side of fall. The river is a wide one, rushing and gurgling perfectly to drown out the scheming of a few merry men. Munching on her pear, she hears the rustle of mail and fabric through the trees as Arthur’s men search for her. She lets them wander for a few more minutes just to be an ass before she leans back to hang upside down in front of one of them, startling him backwards. He steps back on his cloak and flails his arms to regain his balance. Robyn cackles and flips down, reaching out with a friendly hand on his arm to steady him. He scowls at her, tugging his arm away and she pouts, “Aw, don’t be like that, sir knight. It’s just a bit of fun.”

“Lancelot? Did you find her?”

There’s a rustle through the brush as the curly haired one she recognizes from yesterday bursts into the clearing.

“I assume this is her? Judging from the bow and,” the knight he calls Lancelot gestures at all of her, “tininess.”

Robyn huffs and smacks him upside the head with the hand not holding her pear. He ducks away and scowls at her again. She turns to the other knight, “Curly. Nice to see you again.”

“It’s Sir Leon, my lady.”

“Sure thing, Curly.”

Sir Leon purses his lips together in a no-nonsense attitude and holds out his hand. She holds out the plans to him but when he goes to take them, she twitches the parchment out of his reach so his hand closes around air. He gives her a deadpan what-are-we-children glare which she returns with a playful grin. She lets him snatch the scroll quickly out of her hands.

“I wasn’t able to get you any weapons, however, one of the prisoners, Elyan, has been keeping track of the patrols of the outer walls. He says they pass by every six minutes. There’s always two of them and there’s four groups on rotation. So, you’ll be dealing with about eight guards, but I can take care of them if need be.”

The two knights look at her, “Elyan?” Sir Leon questions. “He’s still alive?”

“Oh, erm yea. He, Gwaine and Gaius are in a cell together. Gaius and Gwaine aren’t doing very well but they’re hanging in there. I’m not sure how much longer Gaius can hold on so you might want to hurry your plans along. I’ve been bringing them what food I can, but it hasn’t been much.”

Sir Leon regards her for a minute before holding his hand out. She looks at him strangely before taking it. He grasps it in a firm grip, “Thank you. Elyan and Gwaine are fellow knights and good friends. Along with Gaius. Thank you for looking out for them.”

Sir Lancelot claps her on the shoulder and when she looks to him, he nods his head in gratitude and let’s go. She can tell that they mean it and she is surprised at the obvious bond between the knights. It’s something that she would not have expected. Both men look much more at ease when they depart, the tension in their shoulders somewhat abated. Robyn wonders on her meander back to the tavern what it feels like to have someone care so deeply about her and resigns herself to her loneliness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey if anyone wants to draw that scene between Percival and Robyn, with them pointing their weapons at each other... I would love that. HMU. I'd love you forever


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for violence and some blood.

It’s a week of relaying messages and intel from inside Camelot to King Arthurs camp in the forest of Ascetir before he’s ready to make his play.

Robyn receives her signal in the form of a servant boy showing up in the tavern on the precepts of bringing mead to the soldiers outside. Robyn nods at him and hurries upstairs to her quarters. She throws open the trunk at the foot of her bed and dresses herself for battle. It’s mindless and methodic work; she lets her mind sink into fighting mode. A knife each attaches to her ankles and one on her wrist. Her chest plate buckles below her arm. Her burgundy hair gets braided and tied back with a leather strap. The gauntlet she acquired last week fits snug around her bow arm and curls forward to protect the fingers wrapped around the grip. That and the chest guard are the only metal pieces she owns as she does not fancy the loud chainmail of the knights. As she pulls on her bracer and glove, she feels the adrenalin of the upcoming fight stir in her veins, a beast much larger than her that thirsts for a fight. She takes a deep breath and exhales, allowing the action to keep the wildness in check.

Her hand comes to her pendant as she takes another breath, feeling the low hum of magic only felt when her fingers touch the stone and letting it soothe her. Tucking it into her tunic, she moves to the dresser, her fingers closing over the tin of charcoal. She studies herself in the grimy cracked mirror before her and sees a woman she is proud of. One that is fighting for what she believes against unmeasurable odds. Her fingers dip into the powdered coal and she smears it over her eyelids and the arch of her nose and under her eyes until the upper half of her face is unrecognizable. Her blue eyes shine like crystals of intensity against the black smears across her face. Her veil is draped to disguise her hair and face, securing it with a pin to cover her nose and mouth, She bends and pulls a sword, smaller than the ones the knights use but certainly just a sharp from under the bed and fastens it in her scabbard to her belt. The quivers come next, one to her back the second to her hip. A last crouch to retrieve her bow and she is as ready as she’ll ever be.

She slips out of the tavern from the back door and makes her way up to the castle, sticking to shadows and back alleys to keep herself hidden. Once she reaches the walls of the city she bolts left to the southern wall. Down in the valley she can see red capes rushing up the path and taking down guards. She pushes on past them and arrives at the lowest part of the castle where the dungeons are. Locating the proper window, she crouches down and whispers, “I don’t have much time but ready yourselves. Help is on the way.”

There’s a scramble of feet finding their purchase and dark eyes appear at the window. “Arthur’s here?” Gwaine asks eagerly.

Robyn smirks. “Not just Arthur. It seems the whole of Camelot has come to save your sorry arses. Can’t imagine why.”

Elyan snorts behind Gwaine and gives her a nod. “Be safe.”

“Well, that’s no fun, is it?”

She jogs further down the wall to the western battlements where the wall is low, built into the hill. She takes a deep breath and with a running leap, launches herself over onto the rampart where she is met with five startled faces. She grins at them, not that they can see, and draws her sword in her right hand and a knife in her left, crouching low to ready herself for a fight. The first one throws himself at her and she pivots to the right, bringing her knife up to find its home in the meat of his thigh, severing the major artery and he goes down. The other four watch in anger, the second one lashing out with his sword. She jumps back into the range of another two at her back. She thrusts, catching one in the arm and ducking out of the way of a swing to her head. They fight for a minute; she parries most of his blows, receiving a few bruised ribs from his fists. She flicks the hand gripping the knife up into his underarm on a particularly hard jab to her chest, severing the joint and sending him flailing backwards, gripping his shoulder in pain as he collapses. The third and fourth wait for her to turn to them (for some stupid reason they don’t attack while her back is turned. Must be the honor or something) and they both bring their swords down at once. She rolls through their legs and springs to her feet behind them, quickly flipping her sword and plunging it backwards. Her back to his back, her sword finds its home in between the vertebra of the guard to her right and she twists to stab the man to her left right between his shoulder blades. The knife sinks deep and coats her gloved hand in blood before she withdraws it. The last man dealt with, curled up in a fetal position on the cobblestone, she wipes her sword and knife on their clothing before sheathing her sword, keeping her knife gripped tight in her hands.

“That was quite impressive,” she hears behind her and whips around to see a bald, tanned man approaching her, hands on the two swords at his waist. His eyes study her, taking in the quivers and bow over her back. He carries himself with an air of overdramatic confidence and she has a guess at who he is.

“Helios, I gather?”

“My Queen wants your head, you know. I’m rather inclined to bring it to her. And yet… she wants you alive so she can do it herself. What a pity.”

He doesn’t waste much time after that, drawing both his weapons and coming at her from above and below. She is forced to pivot awkwardly, dodging the one aimed for her throat but just barely catching the one for her stomach. It scrapes along her thigh slicing the skin and she cringes behind her mask. He smirks at her and she knows it’s nothing good. She swings angrily, and he dodges, stepping to the side. Her anger was a mistake. She sees the ground come up to meet her, feeling her leg go weak. She glares up at Helios above her, feeling all her muscles become jelly like, gummy and unresponsive. Her hand grasps weakly for the knife at her ankle but a sharp kick to her hand sends her recoiling with what little movement she has left. She squirms as Helios drags her upright, the cut on her leg throbbing along with a few bruises from caught fists. She would do more, but she can’t seem to get her body to cooperate. The signals she’s sending her extremities are not being received. She can still talk though.

She snarls as she’s led through the castle, her words come out slurred and mumbled, “You think you’re so high and mighty. Lookit you, Morgana’s right-hand man. D’you know wha’ Morgana’s gonna do t’you once she’s done with you? I can tell ya this, she won’t leave you alive that’s for sure. She’ll dispose of you in the sewers just like yesterday’s garbage. You think she’s all keen on ya but she’s not, she’s just using you for her own goddamn- “

Helios interrupts her by throwing her into a set of heavy wooden doors, one’s that Robyn is pretty sure lead into the throne room. She is shoved by one of the soldiers that has joined their procession through the castle. She slams though the doors to the ground, her hands coming up to brace her fall. She pants in exertion, all her muscles straining against the poison of Helios’ blade. Her quiver digs into her thigh. She takes a moment to observe the room. It’s certainly the throne room, pillars lining the edges up to the steps of the throne and banners from different kingdoms hanging from the stone walls. There are high narrow window arches along both walls with wooden storm blinds thrown open to let the setting sun into the room in long slants. The room is empty sans Morgana, Helios and the two guards with him.

“You’re little problem, my Lady.” His hand rips off her scarf to reveal her face, sweaty and still smeared in the charcoal. She sneers up at Morgana, lounging there like a queen on a throne when in all actuality she’s an imposter.

Morgana studies her, thinly veiled shock covering her face. “A girl?” She questions Helios.

“It appears so, my lady.”

Morgana cackles, leaning back in her throne as she giggles. “You’ve been bested, Helios, all this time. By a little girl?”

“I’m not so little, you know- “

A heavy boot lands a blow into her lower ribs and she whines. That certainly broke something. She vows to stay quiet after that.

“She’s not to be underestimated, Your Highness. I watched as she took down five of my men on the ramparts.”

“You should see me on a good day.” Well, so much for that.

Helios pulls back his fist, a look of murderous intent on his face. Robyn braces herself for a blow but none is forthcoming. She looks up. Morgana’s hand is raised, halting Helios from following through.

“I’d like to see this fighting for myself. You there. The brute. Come forward.”

Robyn looks behind her to see a massive giant. At least as tall as Sir Percival and twice as round with none of the kindness in Sir Percival’s face. Robyn wasn’t sure how he fit into all that armor. He sways forward and he’s lighter on his feet than she thought he’d be which doesn’t bode well for her.

“Sir OxVard, your Highness.”

Apparently, some of Robyn’s apprehension shows on her face because Morgana smiles at her cruelly and instructs her, “Get up.”

Robyn struggles to do so, leaning heavily on her sword and the pillar to her right. She quickly shrugs her bow off and unclasps her quivers as the knight strides over to her, his hand drawing his sword. She drops them to the ground at the edge of the room and OxVard’s massive sword is there, clashing against her gauntlet with a vibration and ache that spreads up her arm into her shoulder and rattles her brain around. She ducks around the pillar and stumbles to the middle of the room, her heart racing and quickening her breath. OxVard follows her with no inhibition and thrusts his sword. She twists, watching the blade nearly miss her stomach. With a stumble backwards, she leans back against another pillar, panting as her leg muscles shiver. She fumbles for her rapier as the brute lumbers across the throne room at her. She draws her sword and pushes off the pillar, a quick thrust sending her at her opponent. He smacks her with the flat edge of his blade across her chest and she knows she’s being toyed with.

“C’mon you big brute. Is that all you got?” She teases him in hopes he’ll lash out.

He doesn’t but it was worth a shot. She’ll just have to keep talking then.

“Did your parents drop you as a child? Is that why your face is all smushed?”

He comes at her with a diagonal cut from the left which she manages to parry with the base of her sword. She quickly relocates to the right side of the room, her back to the sun so that the sun shines in his eyes as he turns to her. He blinks the sun out of his eyes, and she takes her chance, bringing both hands around her sword and up over her head. She brings it down in an obvious overhead attack which she expects him to parry. He does and she kicks out her good leg, connecting with his right shin, sending him down to his knees. She swings quickly at his neck. She has a clear swing and it seems the end of Sir OxVard before her blade freezes midair. She jerks her head up to look around and sees gold fading from Morgana’s eyes. Robyn snarls under her breath and strikes out her foot, connecting with OxVard’s hand. He drops his sword and she kicks it across the room. She steps back to allow him to rise, knowing Morgana won’t allow her to land a fatal blow.

She catches her breath as OxVard gets to his feet and looms over her once again. She looks up to his face. He looks… angry. No, not angry. More like murderous? Furious? Robyn’s not sure there’s a word for it. But it frightens her. He looks like those bulls she saw at a festival once as a little kid. The foreign men would jump on their backs and the bull would buck like crazy, their eyes black and wild. The bared teeth and scarred snarling face, he looks like he wants to rip her throat out. She is sure he can do it with very little effort if he gets his hands on her throat. She shuffles back as he advances on her quickly, ducking under his fist and getting one in the stomach. She wheezes as all the air leaves her lungs.

Straighten up from her hunched position, she bares her teeth in a semblance of a grin, “I thought you were meant to be strong? That was barely a- “

She doesn’t finish as he tries to nail a foot into her ribs. Robyn lurches out of range and staggers back as OxVard advances on her in a flurry of fists way to fast of a man his size. She manages to block some but not all. In her rush to stop the assault, she grabs the nearest object which happens to be the storm shutter attached to the window. As OxVard moves forward, she slams the shutter into his face, hearing a satisfying crack of broken bones and cartilage. He stands there stunned for a moment as blood slowly drips down his chin. Robyn sees her chance and darts past him for the door. Ducking under the grabbing arms of Helios and his other soldier she yanks on the door handle only for it to light up a golden yellow of melting iron and burn white hot in her hands. She yells out and yanks her hand away, the smell of burning flesh reaching her nose and running acrid through her brain. Her left hand cradles her right and she gasp as she stares at the pink and burned skin, the pain prickling and dare she say burning intensely. The skin of her hand is melted at the top of her palm, a layer of it missing, presumably still clinging to the door handle. The rest is a bright pink almost red now that it’s being exposed to the oxygen rich air. She can almost feel it swelling. She tries to think around the flaming pain but is unable.

A big meaty hand claps her shoulder and whips her around. Robyn hisses in a pained breath and OxVard grips her throat in his hand, cutting off her air flow as he lifts her into the air. She kicks and flails, but his hand only seems to tighten. Her hands claw at his arm, but the motion is soon stopped when blinding pain makes her vision go white; her burned hand making contact with his skin. OxVard looks at her with emotionless eyes, just holding her suspended in the air as her sight dims. Lungs burning, she barely hears Morgana through her blood pounding in her ears. OxVard drops her unceremoniously. Her hands come out instinctively to brace her fall, the burns smacking into the wood. Robyn wails. She curls up in a ball, cradling her hand to her chest protectively.

“Wait. We have company. It seems my dear brother is here” she grins maliciously, simpering her words in false care, “I’m sure he’ll want to watch his little bird die.”

She waves her hand and the doors burst open. King Arthur comes rushing in along with his manservant, Sir Leon and Sir Percival flanking them and Sir Lancelot following shortly behind. As they all enter the throne room, Helios drags Robyn to her knees. She kneels there, hunched over and trembling, close to collapse. Her muscles seize up when she feels the cold metal of a blade at the back of her neck. Her heart leaps in her chest. This is not how she wants to die.

“Arthur,” Morgana grins wickedly and flicks her eyes to OxVard, sending him a nod,” just in time.” Robyn closes her eyes. He raises his arms and Sir Leon dashes forward, his sword clashing against Sir OxVard’s. While Sir Leon holds his attention and mobility, Sir Percival runs him through with his sword, sending him crashing to the floor. The second of Helios’ minions darts forward but is intercepted by Sir Lancelot who makes quick work of him. King Arthur chases after Morgana and Helios who flee out the council chamber doors behind the throne. Meanwhile Robyn collapses onto her side again, curling back into her fetal position. All her muscles are aching and she’s shivering in exhaustion. All she wants now is water and sleep and something to relieve the pain.

She hears the thump of feet as someone approaches her. She curls in on herself protectively and flinches away from the hand placed on her shoulder. The hand retreats and a voice filters through the cotton someone seems to have shoved in her ears. She shifts to lay on her back and lifts her head to see King Arthur’s manservant’s face loom down at her. She can’t remember his name at the moment… didn’t it start with an M? Marcus? Morgan?

“Merlin, is she alright?”

_Merlin._ That’s his name.

“Well, I don’t very well know, do I? I just got here. We need to get her to Gaius.” Merlin snipes, a flurry of anxious hands hovering over her skin, not sure where to touch. He speaks to her next, “Can you stand? Anything broken? You know, maybe Percival should just carry you- “

Robyn has to gather great effort to put words together and when she does, they come out strained, “It’ll be more painful to be carried. It’s just my hand that really needs looking after. Help me up, yea?”

With great difficulty, she sits up and extends her left hand. Merlin grasps it in his and hauls her up. The room lurches under her feet and she stumbles as the ground shakes under her, even though nobody else does. Maybe it’s just her, then. A steadying hand grips her shoulder and she jerks away again, whirling around to send a frightened look at Sir Lancelot who holds his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Easy now. Just looked for a minute there like you were going to fall.”

“’M fine.”

“Sure.”

Robyn takes a few steps forward and her head spins. She sways dangerously. Lancelot appears at her side again and with very easily catalogued movements grips her wrist to pull her arm over his shoulder, his other arm supporting her hip. She winces when his hand lands on a bruise and he apologizes, lifting his hand higher. They’re almost at the door before she realizes, “Wait. What about the rest of Camelot? Shouldn’t you lot be out there fighting?”

A voice comes from behind them, King Arthur returning from his pursuit, “The battle is over. Morgana and Helios escaped, but the knights have managed to subdue what remains of her army.”

The young King looks at her and smiles kindly, “Let Merlin and Gaius take care of you. You have more than deserved it.” He clasps a hand gently to her upper arm, “Camelot thanks you.” To Merlin and Lancelot, he says, “Take her to Gaius and help him tend to her. Percival, Leon and I need to oversee to the city and the rest of Morgana’s men. I’ve got to make a speech or something.”

Sir Percival appears at his shoulder holding her bow and quivers. He hands them over to Merlin who takes them with some fumbling. The two knights nod in farewell as they depart with Arthur, leaving Lancelot, Merlin and Robyn behind. Robyn huffs a breath which jars her ribs painfully and Lancelot adjusts his hold on her before they set off for the physicians’ quarters. Passing a window down a hallway, Robyn can just make out a cluster of dark clad men in chains in the courtyard being shepherded along by knights with torches. Light is fading and with it, Robyn’s energy. She finds herself leaning heavily on Sir Lancelot and they shuffle along the corridor and slowly down steps to Gaius’s chambers. Adrenalin fading, every part of her aches, her hand feels like it’s still on fire and is sending tendrils of pain up her arm. The cut on her thigh is throbbing heavily along with every bruise she has on her face, chest and stomach. They make it to Gaius just as her body decides it doesn’t want to take another step. She slumps forward, knees buckling.

“Woah there.” Lancelot says, startled, his hands tightening their hold on her. Merlin also reaches out to guide her to the cot in the corner where Robyn assumes patients go. They help lower her down and she sighs as she lays down, groaning in effort.

Gaius approaches and Lancelot and Merlin step back to give him room. Gaius turns her head side to side to inspect the damage on her face. He takes her hand and she twitches, wincing briefly. He gives her the stern look of a medical professional and she relents, holding her hand out to him. He takes it and an eyebrow raises but he doesn’t say anything. She figures she knows what that means. It isn’t good.

“I’ll need you to remove your top so I can see the damage underneath. We’ll deal with all the superficial damage first then your hand. Merlin, please go fix up a few poultices and get me the tincture of belladonna. Lancelot, please find me a warm compress and get me the peppermint oil.”

As Merlin and Lancelot step away, he twitches the curtain to shield her from view. She and Gaius start the process of taking off all her weapons first, laying them under the cot, then removing her gauntlet and bracer, gloves and chest guard. Next her scarf and tunic come off. Gaius mostly does that as raising her arms stirs the air and makes her hand throb painfully. Her good left hand comes up to tuck her pendant into the bindings around her breasts, feeling Gaius’ eyes on it fleetingly. Next to come off is her trousers. Gaius has to do a bit of tugging as some of it has dried to her leg along with all the blood. Robyn clenches her jaw, but it really doesn’t hurt all that bad. It does allow the cut to start bleeding anew but with a little application of honey it stems the blood flow and leaves it an angry red. Robyn lays back on the cot, all her energy drained again and lets Gaius apply the poultices Merlin returns with to the welts and bruises on her stomach and chest. He then grabs a sheet from under the bed and lays it over her torso, allowing her some privacy and modesty. He applies salve to her swollen eye and the welt on her jaw. However, he eventually runs out of superficial wounds and his focus shifts to her hand.

“Merlin, please bring me my knife.”

Robyn’s head jerks up and she pulls her hand protectively to her chest.

Gaius tsks and reaches for her hand again, “There is dead skin I need to remove, dirt and a few splinters. Merlin is going to give you a little bit of belladonna to help with the pain.”

Merlin approaches as Sir Lancelot drags a chair over to sit at the head of the cot. He offers Robyn a grim smile as she drinks down the mixture.

“M’name’s Robyn,” she offers him. “Figures if you’ve seen this much of me, we should be on a real name basis.”

Lancelot smiles at her kindly. “Thank you. Just hold on a bit longer then I’m sure Gaius will let you sleep.”

Robyn inspects the red and black skin on her burned hand and her heart races, worry flooding through her and showing on her face if Lancelot’s curious expression is anything to go by. “What is it?”

“I- I can’t lose this hand. I’m an archer. And what’s an archer without her hands?”

Lancelot nods understandingly, “Don’t worry. Gaius is the best. He’ll heal you right up in no time at all.”

Gaius smiles consolingly. “Thank you, Lancelot. Now, this next part is going to hurt. A lot. I’m going to have to cut away skin and dig around a bit. Here,” he hands over her leather bracer, “you might want to bite on that. The belladonna should kick in in a moment, but I only gave you a light dose because I need to hear what hurts and what doesn’t to rule out any nerve damage. Are you ready?”

Robyn bites on the leather and braces herself for the pain. When it comes it’s tingling and sharp. She groans and clenches her teeth, glad for the obstruction. She instinctively rips her hand away. Lancelot reaches over to push her arm down, holding it there for Gaius to continue his work. The belladonna works some and the pain lessens as Robyn gets more disoriented and loopier. One particularly hot flare of pain makes black shapes swim at the edge of her vision. A hand pats her brow with a cold towel and her eyes flutter open to see what she thinks is Merlin’s face floating above her. He looks anxious and when they make eye contact, Robyn’s gaze is pleading, exhausted and tired of the constant pain.

He purses his lips and looks away to see Gaius is finished with the painful bit and is applying honey and salve to the worst parts. “Sleep now. We’re all finished,” he mumbles something else and with his face turned away and her head swimming she can’t make out what it is, but she slips off to sleep almost immediately, lured under by the pull of exhaustion and medicine. Gaius finishes wrapping her hand and places it on her stomach before rising and ushering the men away from her cot. With one last look, he closes the dividing curtain to let her rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beautiful beta Smuternatural. A true blessing. Follow me on Tumblr. Same tag. DaisyAnneWinchester. Please leave kudos and comments if you liked it! It's my first fic and I'm hungry for validation. Enjoy!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for child abuse and whipping. I make a note of it though, so you should be warned. If you thing there is a better way for me to do that, please let me know! I want you all to enjoy

Robyn is roused to someone tugging at the wrappings on her hand. It sends a needle-like pain through her hand and up her forearm. She grumbles and weakly attempts to pull her hand away. Her forehead creases in pain. The hand lets go and rests gently on her wrist.

“Hey. You’re awake. Sorry but Gaius said your bandages need changing. They’re looking a bit gross. He told me I had to be useful or get out. Apparently, I take up a lot of space. He told Gwaine to get out this morning- got tired of his chatter.”

Robyn cracks open the eye that isn’t swollen shut and tilts her head to the right. Sir Percival is there, not looking at her but tugging at the knot of her bandage again.

She groans, “How long’ve I been asleep?”

“Gaius kept you asleep for two days. Said you needed to heal up. He said you have a look about you?” Sir Percival cocks his head slightly with a confused look on his face as if he doesn’t understand.

Robyn ponders what that means for a moment before Gaius sweeps the curtain aside and shuffles in. “The look of someone who doesn’t give their body time to heal like they should. Any physician worth his keep can tell. The scars of ripped open stitches on your shoulder and a few poorly healed broken toes…” Gaius trails off with a raised eyebrow and a stern look shot in her direction. While he is talking, he unwraps her hand with a lot more care and gentleness than Sir Percival. He inspects the blisters forming on the pads of her fingers and palm of her hand, massive and yellow around the bright red skin. Despite the grotesqueness, Gaius doesn’t flinch, actually seeming pleased with what he sees while Sir Percival blanches and looks away.

“Merlin? Bring me a bowl and pin, would you? We need to drain the boil and I need to test it for infection.”

Sir Percival gags at this and turns away, bumping into Sir Elyan whom just arrived and looks just as disgusted. “We’ll just… come back later” Elyan says and it’s a race to the door, the two knights elbowing each other in their haste to leave.

She watches them go with a conflicted look on her face. Gaius notices and misinterprets her look. “Don’t worry. It won’t hurt much.”

Robyn shakes her head, still watching the door Sir Percival and Sir Elyan disappeared out of. “It’s not that. It’s just… I’ve never had people fuss over me before. It’s… different. I’ll miss it.”

Gaius watches her for a moment before bending over her hand, giving her a bit of privacy. “I think you’re in for a change. These knights have taken a liking to you. I don’t think you’re going anywhere for a while, my lady.” He fixes her with a stern glare. “Not until you’re fully healed anyways. That is not up for debate.” He finishes with draining the blisters on her hand and wraps it in new bandages, her barely noticing as they talk. He scoots his stool down to the foot of her cot and lifts the thin blanket covering her legs to expose her bandaged thigh. He removes the bloody bandages and gently cleans the cut, being gentle around the stitching. After he’s done rewrapping, he helps her sit up, propping her up with her pillow before he leaves her to test whatever fluid he gathered from her blisters. Her body starts to throb as whatever medicine she’s on wears off. She squirms uncomfortably and groans softly. The sheet covering her torso slides off onto the floor as she readjusts. She glares at it frustrated and is in the process of slowly bending over to retrieve, pangs of pain shooting through her ribs when the curtain is swept aside. Merlin looks in and his eyes widen before he closes his eyes, placing the plate and goblet on the bedside table before he bends over to grab for the blanket blindly. With his eyes closed, he bumps his head into the corner of the bed and yelps in surprise. He steps on the blanket and slips, falling on his bum. Meanwhile, Robyn is watching with raised eyebrows, reluctant laughter bubbling up inside her. She lets it burst free but winces, clutching her ribs and grunting. She gasps around her laughter. “Wait, stop. Merlin just- stop.”

Merlin stops, his head turned away and limbs sprawled on the ground. Robyn can see the tips of his ears and back of his neck are bright red. “Open your eyes. Look, I’ve got underclothes on. It’s fine. I’m not shy and the High Priestess’ aren’t going to smite you for looking at a clothed woman. See, it’s all fine.” Robyn reaches out her good hand for the blanket and Merlin cracks his eyes open, seeing Robyn in her breast band and drawers and hands her the blanket. She takes it, covering her torso. He rightens himself, flustered, and she cackles again as he avoids eye contact. “ _Merlin_. It’s fine. Really. Honestly, I thought you’d be adjusted to this sort of thing. Being a physician’s assistant and all.”

“W-Well it’s the principle of the thing really, y’know?”

“No.”

“…”

Merlin looks around uncomfortably and picks up the plate of food, offering it to her like a peace offering. She accepts it and takes a big bite of the bread.

“I grew up in a Druid camp. I’m used to some… strange things. There was one woman who found that wearing clothes ‘hindered her magic.’ Which is sort of true. Some magic requires painting sigils on the body and clothes messes up the paints. So, she’d strip down when she was doing the enchantments for the camp. She’d wander the perimeter in all her glory mumbling her protection charms and such. Quite a sight. All that baggy skin and wrinkles. I just think she liked letting it all swing free in the wind. The Druids aren’t shy about nudity in general.”

There is a pregnant pause and she drinks the water and eats a sausage while Merlin processes this information. “You’re a Druid?”

Robyn snorts, “No, Merlin. I was raised in one for half my life. I was born in Engerd in Lot’s kingdom. I… ran away when I was eleven. Ended up starving and wandering the forest of Balor. I was eleven, I didn’t know what I was doing. Running away seems so easy until you leave,” Robyn’s blaming the comfort of good food for her running mouth. Certainly not her loneliness. Robyn’s not lonely. “I was sleeping in a cave and was attacked by a horde of Balorian spiders. I was bitten twice before someone found me. He brought me back to the camp and the Druids saved me. Balorian spider venom is fatal. But they saved me… with magic. They let me stay with them after my recovery and I did trade for them. I stayed with their Witcher at the time and we would go to markets and pick up special things the druids needed for their spells. We travelled a lot, he more so without me. Saw all different kinds of peoples and cultures. He taught me archery. I stayed in Balor for nine years. Nine years of naked people with no shame makes you have pretty much none of your own.” Robyn trails off and looks at Merlin. He opens his mouth to speak but never gets a word out.

“Every good story ends with naked people,” Gwaine grins as he comes up behind Merlin, clapping him on the shoulder and smiling down at Robyn. He’s clad in commoner clothes, none of his armor or chainmail suggesting he should be on duty.

Robyn busies herself with eating some of the grapes on her plate, resolutely not looking at him. “How much of that did you hear?”

He bends forward to steal a grape from her fingers and she can’t help but look up at him to glare as he pops it into his mouth. She rolls her eyes as he grins cheekily.

“All of it,” he offers but relents, “I won’t tell anyone until you’re ready. I understand about wanting to keep your past hidden.”

“Gwaine’s secretly a nobleman. He plays at being a rogue but-“

Merlin is cut off as Gwaine takes a swipe at the back of Merlin’s head with an indignant “Merlin!”

Robyn snickers at the antics of the two friends. Merlin ducks off to do whatever he does during his days, leaving Gwaine alone with her. Gwaine plops himself in the chair by the head of the cot, kicking his feet up on to the edge.

“Oh please, do make yourself at home,” Robyn snides.

Gwaine shrugs. “Alright,” and bends over to pull her weapons out from under the cot placing them in his lap and next to her on the cot. He inspects them, a critical eye lingering over the edges and leather of the handles. She raises an eyebrow at him, and he pulls out two whetstones and a polishing cloth, passing one of the stones to her. He grabs one of her knives and proceeds to sharpen it, running the stone over the blade edge with practiced movements. She watches him until he looks up and gestures to the other stone. She picks it up and sets to work on her rapier, the movements methodical and calming.

“I figured you’d be bored,” he offered, “being laid up like this always makes me antsy. I’d much rather be doing something useful.”

She nods in understanding and they sit there making idle chatter as they work through her weapons until Gaius comes back with more medicine for her pain. Afterwards, she gets tired and Gwaine leaves her to rest.

*****

Robyn is going stir crazy. It’s been a week and she’s mostly healed up. The cut on her thigh is scarring over nicely and her hand is slow to mend but mending, nonetheless. The bruises have all turned yellowish and purple and her ribs don’t hurt anymore besides a low ache when she stretches. Yet Gaius believes she still needs to take it easy.

So she is. Just. Not in her cot. Robyn’s taken it amongst herself to explore the castle tonight whilst everyone is asleep. She strolls down a door lined hallway towards the kitchens, stomach rumbling for a midnight snack. A door swings open to her left and Sir Leon steps out, clad in his mail sans armour with his sword at his waist. He looks up, surprised to see another person so late at night. “Lady Robyn, a surprise. Aren’t you to be resting?”

Robyn itches a spot under her sling and scowls.“I ’ve done enough resting, thanks. Gaius gives me small portions because of the medicine I’m taking and I’m hungry. So, I’m on my way to remedy that.” Robyn looks at his sword pointedly then back to him. “Where are you off to then?”

“Guard duty. It’s my shift in a few minutes. I could do with a bite however.”

They fall into step together, winding their way down to the kitchens in the silence of strangers, not quite uncomfortable but not relaxed either.

“Arthur wants to thank you, you know. Want’s to give you a reward for all you did for Camelot whilst he was away. And I quite agree. He’s still deciding what it is though.” He smiles at her indulgingly. “Any ideas?”

Robyn huffs a laugh. “I don’t require anything from the King. What I did, I did for the people. I couldn’t stand by and watch people be slaughtered.”

A shadow crosses Sir Leon’s face but all he does is nod.

Robyn places her good hand gently on his arm and speaks softly. “I saw what they did. Lined you all up for slaughter and shot the people instead when you refused to serve. I was there. In the crowd. It’s not your fault. You didn’t know she would do that. No one could have known.”

Sir Leon doesn’t look up from his shoes and his hair is obscuring his face, making it hard for Robyn to see his expression. When he next looks up, there is gratitude on his face.

They enter the kitchens as he speaks. “Let Arthur reward you. You saved lives that I could not, and I want to thank you for that. Arthur has the means to. So, let him. For me?”

Robyn is quiet, searching her mind for something she wants but she already knows the answer. She’s quiet as they raid the kitchens scrounging up a roll each and four boiled eggs that they split between the two of them. The next time she speaks it’s quietly. “A knighthood.”

“Really?”

“It’s something I’ve longed for since I was a child. Protecting people is what my heart was made to do. I can’t turn a blind eye to suffering and a knighthood is a good way to do that.”

Sir Leon ponders this for a moment. “Arthur has changed many aspects of the knighthood in the past year. He’s allowed commoners to become knights. He’s changing many of the laws inside Camelot. Yet, it’s not all up to him. The council must agree to his decisions and I’m not sure they will be agreeable to knighting a woman. I will talk to him and see if we can come up with something. He values my opinion and if I put in a good word, he’ll listen.”

The knight smiles at her and gives her a little bow. “My Lady.”

As he’s heading for the door, Robyn calls out. “Sir Leon, just Robyn will be fine. And thank you.”

Sir Leon nods. “Just Leon is alright then. Goodnight, my lady.”

*****

She is summoned to the throne room two days later. She opts to dress nicely in a black tunic and red leather vest over her nicest pair of trousers and her leather boots, her pendant laying proudly against her breastbone. She also has three knives hidden on her person, but Merlin doesn’t need to know that as he escorts her to the throne room, a small smile on his face. He doesn’t speak though, so she lets silence wash over them. She can’t help but be slightly nervous. She is in fact appearing in front of the King of Camelot.

They approach the doors and Robyn has a brief flashback of being thrown into them a few weeks ago. Today, Merlin opens them for her and instead of an empty room there are a few knights, most of them she recognizes as the Knights of the Round Table, and people she assumes to be the council since they’re elderly and looking at her with slight frowns on their faces. She walks the long length of the room up to the throne alone but on strong legs and bows before the King. “You’re Highness. It’s a pleasure to meet you under these better circumstances.”

“Lady Robyn. Pleasure is mine. Please rise.”

Robyn does so and her eyes stray past the king to land on Leon at his shoulder. His face doesn’t betray anything, and she feels her nerves spike.

“Lady Robyn, this past week, as Camelot has recovered from Morgana’s unjust rule, I have seen and heard a lot of the Sparrow and her exploits. A man at one of the taverns in the lower town spoke highly of you, although I’m quite sure most of his tales were not altogether true. I heard of you stealing from the guards and setting fire to wagons carrying goods. You set fire to my bedchambers,” he says in an accusatory tone. He glares at her and in a flat voice states. “I do not enjoy having to have a new bed made.”

“To be fair, You’re Grace, I did not know at the time that they were your bedchambers.”

Arthur pushes on. “I heard of you poisoning men’s goblets, causing riots in the city. You ruined quite a few good swords if what I heard from the armorer’s apprentice is true. I was informed by a few of my knights that you killed many of Helios’ men. So, what are those charges? Arson, murder, theft, destruction of land. I’m sure we can fit treason in there somewhere.”

Robyn ducks her head, confusion and maybe a little hurt swirling in her. She glares at Sir Leon, but he doesn’t meet her eyes.

“Without any of which Camelot would not be here. You saved lives and gave Camelot hope when it- and I- did not have any. You provided us with vital information to take back Camelot and restore her to her former glory. And for that I thank you. I wish to reward you for your valiant vigilantism. One of my men suggested a knighthood might be in order. I have spoken with the council and that simply cannot happen.”

Robyn feels her heart sink and she keeps her head bowed to hind her face.

“However, due to recent events, I find myself in need of extra security. I would like to present to you the honour of damehood. The details we would discuss in private, but you would have rooms in the knight’s quarters, you would be fitted for armor and a horse and be expected to train with the knights. Will you accept?”

She’s barely able to hide her giddy smile as she looks up at the king who has worked around social standards in order to honor her. She drops to a knee and bows her head, her bandaged right hand coming to rest over her heart.

“It would be my honor, King Arthur, to accept this gratitude from you. I thank you most dearly.”

She remains knelt as he rises and draws his sword. Standing in front of her, he taps her with his sword first on the left shoulder then on the right.

“Then I pronounce you, Dame Robyn, First Dame of Camelot!”

The knights all raise their swords and shout. “First Dame of Camelot!”

The council applauds politely. Robyn beams and rises as a Dame of Camelot.

*****

They celebrate at the Rising Sun, each of the knights buying her a round. She plays dice against Elyan and finds out she’s shit at it. She sings a bit once she puts away a few tankards of mead and Lancelot says she’s not bad at it. She’s still humming slightly when she and Merlin meander their way back to Gaius’ chambers, stumbling into each other and hanging off one another. They fumble their way inside, shushing each other and giggling loudly which makes them shush each other again. Merlin helps her collapse into her cot and she promptly passes out, boots still on but uncaring as her hazy thoughts subdue in the lull of sleep.

*****

Robyn has another itch under her skin. An itch for her bow. Or so she tells herself. Gaius says it’s going to be another few before she can even think about taking her bow out. So instead she is hacking at this dummy on the training grounds. Which is also frustrating. She can’t use her dominant hand. She’s having to use her left hand. Not that she’s terrible at using her nondominant hand, it just feels wrong and is certainly not as fluid. Yet it requires more concentration which she is certainly willing to contribute. As she swipes at its chest and embeds her rapier in its neck, she pushes down the ache in her chest, giving the dummy and particularly vicious kick to its lower regions, sending it toppling.

“Should I be worried?” A voice speaks softly behind her and she looks over her shoulder to find Lancelot there, leaning against the rack of shields. He’s dressed in a navy tunic and tan breeches. So, off duty then.

“I want to shoot my bow, but Gaius won’t let me.”

“Ah, I see. So, we’re letting the dummy know just what we think of Gaius, aren’t we?”

She sends Lancelot a flat look and hoists the practice dummy back up to its stand.

“Instead of just hacking and messing up your form, why don’t you practice correct footwork. I couldn’t help but notice you’ve got it all wrong.”

She arches an eyebrow at this. “Oh, have I?”

Lancelot nods seriously and steps forward with a shield in hand. “You stand like an archer most the time. Tall and stiff. You need to be quicker on your feet, lighter. You know a moving target is much harder to hit than a stationary one. C’mon,” he raises his shield, “let’s have a go.”

She keeps her blows light, focusing more on her footing than anything else. Lancelot doesn’t strike back, just acts as her moving target. She finds it requires a lot more concentration to makes sure she’s applying his corrections and she feels her itch fade away.

Out of nowhere, Lancelot lurches forward and uses his shield like a battering ram, knocking her to the ground. She raises her hands in a what-the-fuck-was-that gesture and glares at him as he offers her his hand. She takes it and he pulls her to her feet.

“You’re putting all your weight on your heels. Makes you easy to fell. Lean forward slightly on the balls of your feet and you won’t be knocked down that easy. Let’s go again.”

They continue their practice for another few hours until the sun starts to set, then they head inside for supper, muscles pleasantly aching. Merlin catches up to them on their way to the mess hall and informs Robyn that Arthur requests her presence. She glances longingly at the tables she can see through the doors just paces away, laden with food. Aw, and is that a pie? She turns to Merlin. “But… food.” She gestures to the food sending wonderful aromas her way. “Can’t his Highness wait?”

Merlin just shrugs and turns to leave. Robyn huffs and, looking at Lancelot, shoves him hard when she sees he’s stifling a laugh. He snickers and steps into the dining hall. Robyn send one more longing glance at all the delicious food and scowls but falls into step beside Merlin.

“I’m pretty sure this counts as some form of mistreatment. Abuse? Torture? I’m not sure. He better have food for me,” she points a finger threateningly in Merlin’s face. “I’m not skipping dinner for his royal Highness.”

*****

She skips dinner for his royal Highness.

To be fair, it is about her damehood so she really can’t complain much.

Arthur gestures her inside and motions to a straight-backed chair in front of his desk. She can tell its not designed for comfort, but she sits in it anyways, slouching down in a silent display of her displeasure. She sees his dinner plate to the side and scowls, eyeing it enviously. The bread, chicken and apple are taunting her, she swears. He eyes her posture critically but hands over a scroll without a word. She takes it and only after she drags her eyes away from his food and reads it does he speak.

“I have taken the liberty of penning down exactly what your damehood will entail. You would start as soon as Gaius deems your hand well. As you can see, I would like for your role to maintain a lower profile amongst the villagers. I’ve seen first-hand your abilities in sleuthing and believe that it could be of great value to Camelot. I would require you to maintain your network in the lower town under your Sparrow alias. You would join the knights and I on quests however, you would act more as a scout or lookout for up incoming danger. I may have various standalone quests for you to partake in, such as gathering intel from nearby villages and the surrounding kingdoms. You would not be in the same limelight that my knights are, you would not garner the same attention and as such would be able to see things that they may not.”

The king pauses for a moment. He rises and moves to the window, staring down into the courtyard below as the last of the sun sets over the wall. Next he speaks, it is slowly and with care.

“I know this is not quite the knighthood that you desired. When Leon spoke to me of your wish, I myself was wary of it. But once I came around, I knew the council would not be so receptive. However, I believe that this might have worked out for the best. Your position is something that Camelot does not have but could certainly use. If you accept, that is. You are more than welcome to turn this down, take a reward of coin and a horse and be on your way. Think about this if you need to, it is a big decision.”

Robyn stands from her chair, parchment clutched in her fist. “I don’t need time, my lord. I can think of no better way for me to serve Camelot than this. You have my sincerest gratitude.”

Arthur smiles at her, relieved, and extends a hand to her. She grasps it and they shake hands over the table.

“Is that all, sire?”

“That would be all, Dame Robyn.”

Robyn bows to Arthur then Merlin and makes a hasty retreat for the door. It’s only when the door is firmly shut behind her does she hear a “Hey!” of surprise. She bites into her pilfered bread roll happily and heads for the kitchens in hopes of scrounging up a meal.

*****

The sparing only works once to cure the ache in her chest and she knows she’s long past due for a change. Whatever she tries, it’s always there, spreading through her body to her knees and elbows then to her hands and feet. She’s antsy and fidgety all the time. The knights are starting to notice. When they ask, she waves them away stating it’s just lack of sleep. Which is partially true. The aching does wake her up often, her pendant feeling like it weighs a thousand pounds where it rests on her chest. When that persists for a few days and Gaius offers her a sleeping draught, she knows it’s past time.

Yet she’s scared. It’s the same fear that always resurfaces before a change. Fear of being caught. Fear of what she is. She just tells herself that it will pass. It doesn’t help much.

She lasts another day before the ache spreads to a burning. The following morning, she goes down to the kitchens and asks one of the women to pack her a basket for the day. As she waits, she dresses in her regular tunic and breeches, binding her hair at the nape of her neck. She straps on a few knives and a quiver. Over it all she pulls on her hooded cape and secures it with the ties. With her bow over her back and food satchel in hand, she heads for the stables. She turns a corner and spots Gwaine at the end of the hall, dressed in full knightly regalia. She casts her eyes about for a room to duck into but there isn’t one, so she puts her head down and hopes he doesn’t notice her. No such luck. He cocks his head, scrutinizing the satchel and weapons. “Nipping off, are you?” She looks up to find a small teasing smile on his face and she relaxes.

“Working actually. Unlike you,” she retorts. “I’ve got business in the lower town today. Inform Arthur that I won’t be at training today, would you?”

“Sure. You can take my horse until you get your own. Her name’s Gringolet. Just call her and she’ll let you know.”

Robyn is touched by this kindness. “Thank you,” she says sincerely and Gwaine nods, walking past her, patting her on the shoulder in friendly passing.

She heads across the courtyard to the stables, the aches in her chest easing somewhat at the prospect of an upcoming change. She steps into the stables and studies all the horses lined up in their stalls. She calls out softly. “Gringolet? Where are you, darling?”

The horse in the second to last stall lifts her head and snorts. She steps over to her and smiles, placing her hand out for the horse to sniff.

She speaks to her quietly. “Gwaine-“ The brown bay mare lifts her head and shakes it happily. “Yes, yes, Gwaine. He’s all right, isn’t he?” Robyn pauses to grab a bridle. “He said I could take you for a ride today, if that’s alright with you?” she asks the mare. Gringolet butts her hand and mouths at the leather strap of her knife holster. Robyn smiles and ruffles the tuft of hair on her forehead. She opens the stall and approaches with the bridle. Gringolet obediently puts her head down for her and she feeds her the bit into her mouth and tightens all the straps to keep it in place. Not wanting the ache of the saddle, she situates a blanket on Gringolet’s back and jumps, swinging her leg over. She leaves the stables at a trot, the sound of hooves loud on the cobblestone.

Gringolet doesn’t hesitate when she leads her off the path into the Darkling woods. They ride for two hours, until Robyn is sure that they won’t run into any patrol. She stops at a clearing by a little brook and dismounts. She ties Gringolet to the tree with her long rope, letting her graze a fair distance. With a final pat, Robyn relieves her of the blanket and lays it out near the brook. She takes one last look around before stripping off her cape. Her weapons come next. Her skin tingles as if it knows exactly what’s about to happen and is overflowing with eagerness. She gets down to her breast band and trousers when she reaches up for her pendant. It hums in her hand and is warm to the touch, not from body heat like one would think but from overuse. She slowly slips it over her head and drops it with her weapons, clothes and shoes onto the blanket. The release is sudden and almost blinding. She staggers to the still pond in the brook to watch it happen. The change feels like a candle over her skin, hot and burning but not enough to be painful. More like pouring hot candle wax over her body. She stares at her hands as the skin turns a deep red, like the crimson of the blood straight out of a wound. Her nails turn long and pointed at the tips, like claws. She looks down at her stomach to see the band of symbols appear around her waist in white just above her trousers like a belt and she knows it wraps all the way around. Like she also knows that there is a different line of druid symbols in white appearing down her spine from the back of her neck to the beginning of the band at her waist. A long look in the water shows her ears have turned to pointed tips and her hair turned bright white. She sticks her tongue out at her reflection to check and yes, it’s there in all its forkedness. Her teeth shine back as normal as ever except for the sharpened canines, two on the top and one on the bottom, fitting between the two on top like a puzzle piece. Her nose is a slight bit more pointed as is her face, just enough to be unnatural. The last to change are her eyes, the only part she really and truly likes. They shine the same colour as the stone in her pendant, the pupil and iris expanding to fill the most of her eye, leaving just slivers of white at the edges. The pupils are their normal black but the irises are bright purple, a thick black ring around the edges between the purple and the white. As she watches and her change settles in her skin, the ring gets smaller and thinner. It’s an unsettling pairing, the red, purple and white, just enough to be overwhelming and certainly not pretty. She studies her reflection, white lashes blinking back at her. And suddenly it’s too much.

She screams at her mirror image. Which, of course, allows her to see her forked tongue. She swipes at the water angrily, stirring its tranquil stillness. It doesn’t make her image go away, so she backs away from the water. She feels better already, though. The change has settled the magic in her bones, and she feels comfortable and at home in her own skin even if she may not love the way it looks. Walking over to Gringolet, the mare looks at her and steps back, muscles twitching in irritation. Robyn shushes her. “Shh darling, it’s still me. I just look a bit different is all.” She retrieves the satchel at the base of the tree Gringolet is tied to and gives her a pat on her muzzle. She sits on the blanket by the river, digging into her satchel for her food. She eats in silence, listening to the earth move around her. She hears squirrels skittering and chattering to each other and the swish of Gringolet’s tail as she dislodges a fly. She can hear the buzz of the fly even from this range as her pointed ears pick up the sound twice as well as normal. She can also see the same fly rub his legs together where it’s perched on the horses back before it takes flight due to her keener eyesight. She itches at the bandages on her hand before she caves and unwraps it. She stretches her hand out like Gaius taught her, feeling the skin pull taunt just short of full extension. Robyn does the stretches a few more times as she watches the shiny, unnaturally smooth skin move with her hand. The burns have taken away her fingerprints and the grooves along her hands, leaving them smooth and pulled taunt at the edges. Robyn yawns after taking a swig from her skin. She glances around once more before pulling her cloak over her and laying back for a nap. She curls up in a ball in the warm sunlight and drifts off.

*****

_A little girl of four prances around, smacking her father with her wooden sword as he brings in firewood. He drops the logs on the pile and spins around suddenly, sweeping the little girl up into his arms and over his shoulder. She screams in delight as she is spun around, flailing her arms and smacking her father’s legs with her toy sword._

_A voice calls from the garden, stern. “You two better not be playing around! I need help in the garden, these green beans won’t pick themselves.”_

_Her father sets her back on her feet and take her hand, dragging her along as she pouts. “Mum always spoils the fun.”_

_Her father sighs and crouches down to look at her eye to eye. “Your mother works very hard for our family. She’s just stressed about the upcoming winter.”_

_“Lefan!”_

_“Coming, dear.”_

_*****_

_Little five-year-old Robyn coughs into her hands as the mage looks over her._

_“Can you mend whatever is ailing her? We’ve taken her to a physician, and he said he did all he could but she’s not getting better.” Lefan pleads with the mage._

_The mage looks her in the eye and mutters an incantation, his old eyes flashing yellow. Robyn feels something stir under her skin and a weight she didn’t know she carried seems to lift from her chest. Her eyes ache slightly, as does her face but there is no surface in which she can look to see herself. Both the mage and her father look at her with eyes full of terror before Lefan turns on the mage._

_“What did you do to her?! Put her back, now!” Robyn’s never seen her father like this, red-faced and angry._

_“I have done nothing except reveal what was inside her. That was a revealing charm and it seems to have lifted a concealment charm off your child.”_

_Robyn doesn’t understand what is happening, the strange advanced words the old man is speaking. She looks at her hands, balled into fists in her lap and gasps in surprise as the skin slowly changes color from her pale cream to deep red. She tries to wipe it off, but it doesn’t go away._

_“Father make it stop, please. I don’t like it.”_

_*****_

_Robyn listens from behind the curtain separating her room from the rest of their home as her mother, father and the old mage talk about her._

_“It’s most likely that your real child was switched with this fairy child at birth. I’ve heard tale of fae trading children at birth when they believe they cannot tend to the baby. Often fae babies need a lot more food and care than a human baby. So, the faery will trade children to preserve resources and give their fae child a chance of survival under the concealment charm. Now, I believe your child is a Newid, a type of changeling faery. There’s not much to them besides the ghastly appearance and they seem to be on the smaller side. And the heightened senses of course.”_

_“Of course.” Her father runs his hands tiredly over his face and gets up. He paces to the window, looking out at the dark night, possibly checking for any neighbors that might be listening in._

_“That child is an abomination! I don’t want it in my house!”_

_“Now, Gretta, this is still our child, is it not?”_

_“No, it is very well not, Lefan! I want_ my _child back! The one_ I _birthed! Not whatever that is.” She rounds on the elderly mage. “Tell me how to get her back!”_

_Robyn tunes out as she catches sight of herself in the dirty mirror across from her bed. She stands and crawls up onto the stool, balancing carefully to see herself. Purple and black eyes stare back at her. She opens her mouth to inspect her forked tongue and pulls the tie out of her hair, letting the white strands fall in her face. Robyn thinks she’s slightly scary looking, the girl staring back at her. Very much like the scary daemons her father would tell her would come get her if she didn’t stop jumping on the bed and go to sleep. On the thought of sleep, the little five-year-old crawls into her bed and pulls the blanket up to her chin._

_*****_

_Seven-year-old Robyn gets out of bed and heads to the living area. If you want to call what she does living. Her mother is there and slams a plate of stale bread and cheese in front of her and turns away without a word._

_“Good morning, ma.”_

_Gretta scowls and leaves the house. Robyn barely gets out an “I love you” before the door is being slammed shut and latched from the outside. The sound of the deadbolt sliding into place is loud in the quiet of the house and Robyn shudders, bringing her legs to her chest on her stool and picking up her bread._

_*****_

_Gretta has the old mage over again. The man looks like he’s fading to the wind. They’re discussing something at the table, ancient looking books open between them as they whisper furiously. Robyn can barely hear what’s being said, the racket her father is intentionally making drowning out most of what they’re saying. Ten-year-old Robyn strains to hear the last few words._

_“Are you sure this will work?”_

_“There’s no guarantee.”_

_*****_

_Her father crouches in front of her, smiling sadly. He pets her head, smoothing her white hair away from her face. He kisses her forehead before pulling back. “I’ve got to leave, you know this. It’ll only be for a few days. I’m sorry it must be over your birthday. Eleven! In two days! I’ll bring you back something cool, alright? Be good for your mother, little rosella."_

_Robyn nods and lurches forward to hug him tightly receiving a kiss on top of her white hair in turn, feeling a pang of sadness and fear in her heart. With a final I love you to her and a kiss to Gretta, Lefan leaves. Gretta latches the door and turns a glare on Robyn. Robyn’s stomach sinks._

_*****_

_TRIGGER WARNING: PHYSICAL ABUSE, WHIPPING, BEATING AND VERBAL ABUSE. A MOTHER HURTING HER CHILD. IT TORE ME UP TO WRITE THIS_

_Robyn wakes up the next morning and heads for the door only to find it latched from the outside. She pushes and pulls but it doesn’t budge. She hammers on it calling for her mama. She doesn’t respond even though she can hear her moving and muttering to herself at the table. Robyn huffs and throws herself on the bed, resigning herself to being confined to her room with no food until her father came home. She is reaching under her bed for the bag of apples she stole a week ago when the door of her room burst open and her mother strides in._

_“Wha-“_

_Gretta strides over, her mouth set in a firm line. She grabs Robyn by the hair and pulls her out of bed. Robyn cries out in pain, her clawed hands going to her hair, pulling on her mothers’ hand as she staggers. She drags Robyn into the main room where the table has been moved to the wall and the rug rolled back. Gretta throws her to the floor and grabs the chain, looping it around the smallest part of her waist before securing the other end to the hook in the corner above her reach where their hanging herb basket used to go. Robyn pulled at it to no use, her underused muscles straining to no avail. She looks back at her mother with a terrified look on her face. “Mama? What’s goin’ on?”_

_Gretta ignores her and walks over with a knife. Robyn scuttles away as she advances. When she’s backed herself into the corner, she covers her face, terror thrumming in her veins like ice. Gretta leans down and cuts away her shirt, pulling it off her bodily before retreating again, leaving her dark ruby red skin exposed._

_“I’m bringing my child back.”_

_“I thought I was your child, Mama?”_

_Gretta ignores her and picks up her book and a long cord, one she’s only seen once before. Used on the slaves of passing merchants, Robyn knew it brought nothing but pain. She tries to crawl away and a foot comes out of nowhere, stomping down inches away from her recoiled hand._

_“Stay where you are, beast. You’re not my child. I’m trying to get my child returned to me and this is the only way I know how.”_

_With that, she brings the whip down. It hits Robyn on the shoulder, darkening the skin the way a welt would on pale skin. The little girl cries out, gripping her shoulder and trying to turn away from the pain. Gretta starts to read words from the book, a language Robyn doesn’t know and Gretta stumbles over. She brings the whip down again, and Robyn wails, turning her back to her mother. She starts sobbing about the fifth hit, she can feel something trickling down her back. The woman keeps chanting and bringing the cord down on her back and shoulders. The chant ends and the whipping stops. Gretta waits a moment, muttering to herself. “Where is she, where? Come on…” her muttering gradually gets louder. “Bring me my baby. I want my child back. Give her to me. Come on! Please! PLEASE!” she howls and grabs the chain Robyn is attached to, yanking it to drag her forward. Robyn yelps and falls to curl up on the floor. At the tug of her chain, she feels a burning in her midriff, a circle around her waist. She whimpers and curls up, cradling her stomach. Gretta gasps and bodily rolls Robyn to her back, forcing her arms away from her stomach. There are symbols appearing on the ten-year-olds skin, symbols Gretta obviously recognizes. She grabs her book and flips through it frantically. She stops at a page of runes and their meaning and once she interprets them, she wails in anguish and rage. She stumbles to her feet and kicks Robyn’s side. Robyn feebly curls up on her side and takes the whip into her back over and over. Sometime later, Robyn is dragged and deposited into her room by the chain around her waist. She is tossed onto her bed, the weightlessness of being airborne for a moment the last thing she remembers._

_*****_

Robyn startles awake with a gasp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My notes are kinda fucked up, I have multiples or something. But wanted to make sure i thanked Smuternatural for the beta and if yall liked it, please kudo and comment. Takes just a minute and gives me SUCH validation and little butterflies in my tummy. :) Hope yall enjoy. Next chapter on Monday!!


	5. Chapter 5

Her heart pounds. Her pulse racing like a rabbit through her veins. Remnants of her dream flash in front of her eyes, phantom pain making the scars and runes along her back and waist ache. Robyn fumbles for her waterskin and takes big gulps, slowing her breath, her eyes clenched against the sunlight. She waits for her heart to slow before she sits up, scrubbing her hand over her face. She looks up to see it’s approximately mid-evening. Her tummy rumbles and she rummages in her sack, pulling out a few pieces of dried meat, ripping into them with her teeth. She growls grumpily and continues to devour it all along with her bread roll and an apple she splits with Gringolet whom has ambled over, her ties having loosened and fallen away. Gringolet retreats with her apple half, satisfied with her haul and the fact that Robyn has no other food.

Robyn rises to her feet, stretching with a yawn. She strips out of her trousers and breast band and wades into the clear water of the pond. It’s chilly but she sinks into it, the residual sweat from her nightmare washing away in the cool water. She wipes the anxiety away along with the sweat, allowing for a few moments more of weakness in the water as she washes. Once she finishes, she feels lighter, her heart not as heavily burdened and stone-like in her chest. She distracts herself playing with the fish and skipping rocks, her fast reflexes allowing for her to grab the poor fish out of the water. She lets her fingers glide over their scales gently, watching them wiggle frantically. She spots an eel hiding under a rock and watches it, her tummy rumbles suggestively. It doesn't move, believing itself safe. She caves and reaches out, clawed fingers closing around the slimy form. It flips and thrashes in her grip. A quick flick of her wrist has it limp in her hands. She studies it for a moment, her forked tongue flicks gently over its skin when she brings it to her mouth. Not tasting anything toxic, she rips into it, crunching through bone and cartilage. She smiles as she finishes it off, licking the pads of her fingers for any remaining flavor. A delicacy she does not cater too often.

Once the sun starts to set, she dresses herself leaving her pendant in her satchel. Taking Gringolet’s reins, she guides the mare back toward the city, keeping a keen ear out for anyone approaching. Once she reaches the edge of the forest and is sure no one can see her from the main road she pulls out her pendant. She runs the leather string through her fingers, the runes carved into the strap creating texture for her fingers. She slips it back over her head, letting it fall against her chest. She signs as she feels the amethyst grow warm. A tingly sensation runs over her body as her skin turns back to its creamy white and her hair returns to its reddish brown. She knows the transformation is complete when the stone glows bright purple for a moment then dims, sitting innocently on her chest. She shivers and pulls her cloak on, pulling the hood up over her dark hair. She guides Gringolet onto the main road and instead of turning right toward the castle, she turns left toward the lower town. Might as well grab a pint of ale before she heads back, maybe get some gossip from Bandu about the lower townsfolk.

**********

Robyn startles awake the next morning for a different reason. The curtain surrounding her cot is swept aside suddenly and her hand draws the knife from under her pillow, pointing it at the intruder. There is a surprised shriek and a rustle. She blinks the sleep out of her eyes to see who it is. At the end of her knife she sees a woman her age with a fearful look on her face, a wicker basket at her feet. Robyn sheathes the knife.

“Oh dear, I’m dreadfully sorry! Merlin asked me to change the sheets in the patient chambers and I didn’t even begin to think that you might still be here. So sorry. I’m Gwen by the way! Guinevere. I’m a maid here. In the castle. In Camelot, obviously.”

Robyn smiles sleepily and sits up, the blanket pooling around her waist. “I’m Robyn. The new Dame of Camelot.” She yawns and stands up, grabbing a shirt from the chair and pulling it on. “It’s very nice to meet you, milady. I’ll just get out of your hair then.”

She steps away and Gwen moves in, pulling the sheets from the cot and loading them into the basket. Robyn looks at the three other patient cots off to the side. She walks over and pulls the blankets off, bringing them to Gwen. Before she gets there, she spots Gaius’s little pot of flowers at the edge of his desk. She grabs a small purple flower from the pot and balances it on top of the blankets. When Gwen is not looking, she places the bundle of sheets in her basket and makes a hasty retreat for the door, grabbing her shoes along the way. She pulls them on with a few hops and makes for the kitchens. She exits with an apple and hears a voice call out to her. “Dame Robyn!”

Robyn turns to see Leon coming up behind her and matching her pace. He gives her a kind smile. “Arthur assigned me to escorting you to get your horse and fit for armor today.”

“Don’t you train the knights?”

“Yes, well, Arthur hit me rather hard the other day and bruised my ribs. He feels rather bad about it, so he pardoned me for the day.” Leon smiles to himself as if enjoying a private thought.

“Your ribs don’t hurt a bit, do they?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Robyn raises an eyebrow feigning scandalism. “ _Sir Leon_ … lying to your king now, are you? And here I thought you were the most noble of them all. Turns out it’s just a fancy parlor trick to fool us all.”

Leon’s face turns indignant at that and he straightens up, his chest puffed out in importance. “I am very devoted to King Arthur and-“

“Relax, sir knight,” Robyn pats his chest once. “No one’s questioning your devotion.”

Robyn snickers and he flushes slightly. Robyn can tell he wants to do something to hide his embarrassment, so she elbows him. He moves to retaliate but restrains himself, rather because of her size or her gender is unclear. She huffs and rolls her eyes, elbowing him again, hard, into the chainmail at his ribs. He winces but smiles and they meet eyes for a moment. Robyn hopes she conveys just what she things in the deadpan look she gives him. Apparently, she does because he shoves her at just the right moment, making her smack into a pillar. She burst out laughing and he smiles, chuckling too as they horse play their way to the stables.

The stable boy is waiting for them when they arrive and Leon introduces them. “Robyn, Tyr Seward the stable hand. Tyr, Dame Robyn.”

Tyr bows to both of them and Robyn waves it away, never one much for titles and formalities. Tyr bounces on his feet, excitedly. “I’ve never outfitted a woman for a horse before, you’re my first.” Robyn snorts and Tyr flushes, fumbling over himself. Robyn grasps his arm. “All in good fun, my friend. So, what do you recommend?”

Leon moves away to pet one of the horses as Tyr chatters on about mares versus geldings and whether or not the age of the horse when it’s castrated influences its aggression. Not wanting to hear any more about stallion castration she interrupts. “I’m looking for a horse with a smoother gait.”

Tyr ponders that for a moment. “As of the ones I have at the moment, you’re better off with one of the geldings, the mares can get a tad springy. Chester’s a good option,” he gestures to one of the horses and she looks it over. She shakes her head and walks up and down the stalls, patting a few heads and rubbing a few noses. There’s a horse in each stall except one, where she assumes extra hay is kept. She gestures to a slender tall black horse. “Who’s this then?”

Tyr beams. “Ah, yes. Walder’s a good lad. Bit kicky at times, but a very obedient horse.” He guides Walder out of the stall. “Do you want to give him a go?”

She nods and together they get him saddled up and she takes him around the stable and the grassy corral before leading him back with a shake of her head. She tries two more but none of them feel quite right. She wanders down to the end of the stable. She’s looking in one of the last stalls when movement catches her eye in the presumably empty one. She peers in to see a muscular white horse standing at the back, eyeing her distrustfully with his yellow eyes. “What about this one?” She turns to Tyr to find him eyeing the horse apprehensively.

“Well… he’s a Paso Fino. They’re known for their smooth gait and their stamina for long distances. But I really don’t think he’s quite ready yet.”

“Why not?”

“He’s a bit… how do I put this? Standoffish? Grumpy loads of the time. Doesn’t really like the others. He’s not mean towards them or anything, he just doesn’t really socialize.”

Robyn snorts at the irony she finds. Go figures, she’ll never escape him. She opens the stall doors, ignoring Tyr’s objections. She tosses her apple nonchalantly and leans against the wall. “You’re a grumpy lot, are you- um. What’s his name?”

“He hasn’t got one yet.”

Robyn bursts out laughing, doubling over with tears in her eyes. She feels a tugging at her hand and her apple disappears from her grip. “Oi! That’s my apple!” The gelding stares back at her passively much closer than he was as he chews and swallows the apple. She pushes his nose and he snorts, head butting her in the stomach enough to send her into the hay. Leon, who had come over to watch the proceedings, opens the stall to march in when Robyn cackles. “No, no it’s fine. He’s perfect. Please let me ride him.”

Tyr looks doubtful but saddles the white maned horse. Robyn grabs the reigns and leads the horse out to the small pasture. She jumps up and swings her leg over, straddling his back, noticing the wider width of his back. She leads him around the paddock and is thoroughly impressed by the smooth gait and urges him to a run. The ride is a smooth one and she feels like she’s floating. One would figure a stockier horse to be heavy hooved, but his hooves are soft on the ground, barely gracing the grass underneath. She brings him around to where Tyr and Leon are watching. She beams at them and Leon grins at her, obviously liking what he sees in the horse. Tyr looks surprised but he smiles at her. “I’m guessing this is the one you’ll be taking, then?”

Robyn slides off the saddle to the ground and steps up to the horse’s face, patting his white mane. “What do you think, Rog?”

Leon chuckles under his breath and shakes his head. “Rog?”

“Short for Roger. Named after a,” Robyn hesitates for a moment, unsure what to call him, “…friend of mine.”

Leon nods and claps her on the back in congratulations and Tyr leads Rog back into the stables.

“Armory?”

Robyn nods. Her thoughts stray as they walk but she pulls herself back into focus when they reach the armory, Leon giving Elyan a hearty slap on the back and Elyan giving her a bow.

Robyn gags and pleads. “Please stop with the bowing. I’ll turn into royalty if everyone keeps bowing at me.”

Elyan huffs a quiet laugh and eyes her up and down. She cocks an eyebrow and sends him a questioning look. He laughs and waves it aside. “Sizing you up. I have some design ideas and I think I got the measurements right, here.” He pulls out a bundle wrapped in a blanket and sets it on his table with a heavy _thunk._ He unfolds the blanket and exhibits the armor he has wrapped inside. It’s various pieces, a chest guard, a gauntlet, stomach guard, breast plate, a few vambraces to protect her forearms and greaves for her legs. There is also a chainmail top and skirt. She studies it all critically and looks from Leon to Elyan. “I don’t want any chainmail,” she sees them open their mouths to protest and she holds up a hand to stop them. “Chainmail is loud. As is a lot of metal. I’m meant to be sleuthing, stealth is my specialty. Bumbling idiots in armor is a knight thing. I want things that aren’t going to tell people within a five-kilometer radius where I am. So, no mail.” She places the mail on the chair out of the way and studies the rest. She picks up the shoulder guards, lifting them over her head and pulling them on. She ties the greaves over her shins tightly. She picks up the breast plate and puts it over her front while Elyan does the ties in the back. She furrows her brow at the snug but almost perfect fit.

“Someone’s been studying where they’re not supposed to.”

Elyan flushes and Leon snorts, hiding it as a cough when Elyan smacks him. “Purely critical, I promise.”

Robyn swings her arms to make sure no metal pieces connect and, satisfied with the absence of clanging, Grabs the padded leather stomach guard. It fits snuggly like a corset around the waist and allows her to twist her torso freely.

She picks up the last of the armor she’s interested in. She weighs the gauntlet in her hands, noting its light heft. “This is fine craftmanship, Elyan. I like it.”

Elyan steps forward and grabs the gauntlet, slipping it over her bow hand. “I’ve integrated leather with a light brass so joints at the wrists should move freely. There’s no fingers like in a normal gauntlet, instead,” he feeds her fingers through a loop. “Make a fist.”

Robyn does and is amazed to see the metal bend with her hand. Elyan voices her next thoughts before she can. “It’ll protect your fingers. So, when you’re shooting your arrows, no one is going to take your fingers off. But you can still handle a sword and knives. It took a bit of fine tuning, but I think I’ve got the strength and balance correct, you should barely notice it’s there. Unless someone tries to hack off your hand.”

Robyn waits for Elyan to be finished with his ramblings before she speaks. “Thank you, Elyan. These are wonderful. All of it. I cannot thank you enough.” She says, sincerely.

Elyan pats her back. “It is the least I could do. You saved us from Morgana. You deserve it.”

Leon steps forward and helps her undo the ties on all the armor. He packs it all into a bag Elyan provides him and slings it over his shoulder. “I can show you your rooms and we can drop all this off there?” Robyn nods and the bid Elyan goodbye with a wave.

As they head towards the knight’s chambers, Leon looks at her curiously, suspicious of her silence. “What is it?”

Robyn considers brushing it off, not wanting to dampen the mood but realizes she wants to get this off her chest. “I’ve never really had all this before. Not in a long time at least.” At Leon’s questioning glance she specifies. “A permanent home, friends that do things for friends, so many people that care. I used to travel all the time, just me and my guardian as we did odd quests and the like. The Druids were never really a family to me.”

“What about your parents? Where are they?”

Robyn ponders what to tell him. “Not sure. I haven’t seen them since I was eleven. I ran away and haven’t returned since. My family wasn’t all that splendid.” She shrugs like it doesn’t matter to her and Leon gets the signal and doesn’t push for more details.

Leon shows her her chambers and leaves her to inspect them and move in by herself.

*****

Robyn ends up moving in two days later. Gaius sends her away with salve and a sleeping draught and a diagnosis of full recovery for her hand. She is beaming as she makes her way to her new rooms, her arms laden with clothes and weapons and Gaius’ medicines. She reaches her bedchambers to find none other than Arthur waiting for her. He straightens when she approaches and holds her door open for her, shutting them inside her room. She proceeds in putting her things away, figuring Arthur will talk when he’s ready.

“How are you holding up? Have you tested your hand yet?”

Robyn shakes her head in the negative. “I just got permission from Gaius to do so. That’s where I’m headed after this.”

“Unfortunately, you won’t have time. I have an urgent matter I need you to attend to. I’m sending Sir Gwaine and Sir Percival along with sixty of my men to Ismere. I want you to go with them. They leave in an hour. You are to be their scout, so you’ll need to ride out ahead of them every day to keep lookout.”

Robyn stares at Arthur, perplexed. Sending his Dame, untrained and new into battle right after recovering from an injury? Her puzzlement must show on her face because Arthur says. “There are rumors of Morgana’s men being there. You will be able to identify them, and you know their fighting tactics. I can’t think of anyone better.” Arthur clasps her on the arm and gives her a grim smile. “Get ready. You’ve got an hour before they leave, and I hear it’s cold in the Northern Plains. Meet in the courtyard. And Robyn,” Robyn looks up at the lack of formal address from the king to see him looking at her worriedly. He opens his mouth to speak but whatever he was about to say is not what comes out. “Don’t forget your sword.” Robyn nods, accepting it as the well-wishing it is and turns to gather her things.

*****

Forty-five minutes later, Robyn is guiding Rog to the front of the procession of horses and foot soldiers where Gwaine and Percival are waiting. Gwaine smiles when he sees her and Percival’s brow furrows.

“Arthur requested I accompany you lot. Make sure you don’t run around like chickens with your heads cut off. Or to the nearest tavern.” That gets a chuckle from them both. Robyn steps up to greet Gringolet, muttering a greeting to her and stroking her muzzle. Rog huffs and nudges her bodily in the back, sending her stumbling forward. Percival grabs his reigns and Rog jerks his head, making him let go. Robyn and Gwaine laugh as Rog dances away from Percival’s seeking hand. Robyn parts from Gringolet and reaches for his reigns. He lets her without protest and Percival splutters, throwing his hands up. Robyn sends him a what-can-you-do shrug. Gwaine notifies them that the procession is ready, and they saddle their horses, taking off for Ismere via the main road. Percival tells her that they will stick to the main roads as long as possible before veering off just before the border of the Plains.

They ride in silence after that, making idle chatter but generally enjoying the quiet. They’re going at a slow gait to let the foot soldiers keep up, which allows Robyn to keep her eyes and ears out for trouble. They don’t come across any the first day and they make camp without a hindrance.

All goes well on the main road and Robyn gets to stick with the knights for a while instead of scouting ahead. She spends some of the time walking, guiding Rog by his reigns and sometime riding. Their convoy continues in this way for the next week, making camp a few hours after dusk and leaving when the sun rises. Robyn is thankful for the uneventful boringness as it allows her to acquaint herself with her new weapons and armor, getting the feel for the heft and flexibility of it all. As they set up camp on their tenth night a bit early- one of the horses threw a shoe- she takes advantage of the daylight hours to practice her archery for the first time. Robyn won’t admit it to anyone but she’s nervous. What if she’s not as good as she used to be? What if the muscles don’t work like they’re supposed to, and she’ll never be able to draw her bow again? What if her hands can’t bend as far as they need to, can’t hold the position? What if her hands aren’t steady anymore? Fear is a cold stone in her stomach, freezing her insides and demanding her attention. She stares down at the tree she was going to aim at. The tree goes blurry in her vision and pressure builds behind her eyes. She hears a man’s gruff quiet voice in her head telling her she is letting her emotions fuck with her and to _take a deep breath, little roselle_. Another voice, this one feminine and stern, barks at her to give up, that _you are a failure_. Robyn hesitates, an arrow nocked but doesn’t pull the string taunt. She looks away, off to the side where Rog is tied to another tree, grazing at its roots, giving her no mind. She blinks rapidly and succeeds in pushing the tears back as she takes a deep breath. It sounds horribly shaky as she exhales and she grumbles at herself, self-reprimanding her childlike tears. She takes another breath and when it comes out steadier and doesn’t make her lungs hurt, she raises her bow and pulls back on the string. The tension so far isn’t hurting her hand. She can feel the new shiny scars pulling at her hand, but she ignores it. The string rests on her cheekbone as she sights down the arrow at the knot in the tree. She exhales and releases, the arrow snapping forward. A sigh of relief as the arrow embeds in the center of the knot. Still the best. Robyn doesn’t know why she doubted herself.

She unloads the rest of her quiver into the tree, feeling the tension in her lame hand as she works new skin and underused muscles. Her fingertips tingle and ache pleasantly by the end. She’ll have to rebuild the callouses in her fingertips. She feels free of tension in a way she hasn’t felt since she changed. She retrieves her arrows with a smile she can’t wipe off her face. On her way back she stops to pet Rog, giving his side a heavy rubdown. He stays still for her, clearly enjoying it but pretending to not notice as he continues his grazing. She leads him back to the campsite through a clearing to see someone has caught a boar and is roasting it over the spit. Her mouth waters and she leaves Rog to sit next to Percival by the fire. She beams at him with a wide smile, her heart happy and he gives her a questioning stare. “What’s got you all happy?”

Robyn leans in to whisper to him. “I shot my bow for the first time. I was worried about my hand but it seems it was for naught. I’m still the best.”

Percival grins at her, clapping her on the back, almost sending her head over heels before she catches herself. “That’s fantastic! Congratulations. Here,” he rips off a chunk of the pig, the more tender coveted part that is always juicy and delicious and hands it to her along with his wineskin. “You’ve earned it.” He sends her a pleased smile and she bites into the pig, offering it to him after. They share it together in comfortable silence before the others get back and realize what they’ve done. Robyn wonders how she’s going to explain the grease stain on her shirt. She pokes at it and giggles, elbowing Percival to show him. He raises an amused eyebrow and stands up, hauling her to her feet. She giggles again and sways. How much of the wine had she been drinking? Was that wine? Percival steadies her with a hand at her waist and guides her toward her tent. Robyn wonders briefly how Percival could be walking so steadily when the ground is swaying so much. _He must be magical._ Robyn thinks as Percival lowers her to her bedroll and takes her shoes off for her before leaving her to sleep.

*****

There is a loud clanging that wakes Robyn up in the morning. Her head pounds as she cracks her eyes open to peer up at the person above her. Gwaine grins down at her, his sword and one of the kettles in his hands. “Get up lazy bird. We’re leaving in an hour.” He clashes the pot and sword together and laughs as Robyn winces and covers her ears. He turns to leave, still clanging and making her head pound. She picks up the nearest object and hurls it at his retreating form, making him cackle as her bracer bounces off the back of his head and falls harmlessly to the floor. She sits up slowly, scrubbing at her face.

In an hour she’s ready to go, squinting against the glaring sun that seems intent on pushing her brain out of her skull. She glares at the road ahead then turns it on Percival. “Why didn’t you stop me drinking so much?”

Percival chuckles and shrugs. “You told me you could hold your wine.”

“Well, yea, but whatever the bloody hell is in your wineskin is not wine.”

That makes Gwaine laugh from next to Percival.

Their procession travels for an hour on foot before they reach the point they need to diverge. Robyn saddles Rog and rides out ahead. They gallop hard for an hour ahead of the convoy before she slows the gelding to a trot, satisfied that she is far enough ahead of the foot soldiers. She pulls her cloak tighter around her and shivers slightly. Her eyes dart around, looking for danger, senses on high alert. She risks a look behind her, making sure she is as far away from the parade as she thinks before she reaches up for the pendant at her chest. She pulls it off, feeling the rush of the change take over. It’s not as intense as before, when she had gone for a longer period of time without changing. Tucking her pendant safely into one of Rog’s saddle bags, she looks down to see her hands their dark crimson and pulls her hood up, covering her white hair. Her senses sharpen, her hearing magnifying and eyesight strengthening. Now, she can hear the buzz of insects and spot them far off in the distance between the trees.

She rides like this for most of the day, eating astride her saddle, only stopping to feed and water Rog when he needs it. She hums to herself as she goes. At approximately every mile, she leaves an arrow embedded in a tree, letting the knights know which way to go and that all is well. It’s as she’s about to make her next mark that she hears it. Rustling. It’s so quiet that she would not have been able to hear it had she not been in her Newid form with her strengthened hearing. She casts her eyes around for movement as discreetly as she can, her hand tensing on her bowstring, the arrow already nocked to the string. She sees about four men surrounding her, so she assumes there is about six. Robyn waits in tense silence as they move in and surround her. She hates having enemies at her back, it goes against everything she was taught, but if she’s going to surprise them, they need to be oblivious of her knowledge of them. She keeps Rog at a steady pace but gives him a click of her tongue and a two-tone whistle, the signal that something is about to happen that they have been working on for the two days before they departed. She hopes he remembers. She gives him a smile when she feels his muscles tense but continue at his slow pace, not giving any signal that he’s worried. The only change is the gentling of his stride, unnoticeable to anyone but the rider. As the six men emerge from the shadows, she clicks her tongue with a low sound twice. Rog kicks his legs back, ramming the man approaching behind them in the stomach. At the same time, she leans back to accommodate and stays on the horses back as she releases her arrow into the throat of the man to her left. She leaps down from Rog’s back as the four other men charge at her, their swords drawn. Her hood falls off as she dismounts, exposing her white locks and blood red face. Rog rears back on his hind legs and his hove connects with the helmeted head of one of the men, sending him crippling to the dirt with a sizable dent in his helmet. The other three men hesitate, eyes wide in fear at the inhumane figure in front of them with flaming red skin and bright purple eyes glaring menacing back at them. Robyn takes advantage of their fear and sends another arrow into the eye of the man closest to her and draws her rapier. The first to recover sends a wide and slow swing to her head that she hinders with a jab of her rapier into his gut, the thin blade easily separating the chain mail. She doesn’t stay to watch him fall, already flicking her knife at a man coming at her left flank. It sinks into his thigh and he yells. His sword comes down and she blocks it with hers, their faces inches from each other. He snarls. “What the fuck are you, monster? You’re disgusting.”

Robyn’s lip curls in anger and she knees him in the thigh where her knife is sticking out, making him cry out and drop his sword. She kicks him in the chest, sending him back on his ass. Rog comes sidling up to her now that the danger is past and she pats his muzzle, taking a coil of rope from his saddle. She binds the man to the tree a way away from where she ties up Rog’s reins, keeping them separate as he continues to spit foul words at her. She ignores him as she checks the other men, seeing the one that Rog kicked in the stomach squirming weakly with his arms clenched around his stomach. Robyn kneels down at his head and his eyes open to look at her, widening when they take in her features.

“Demon!” he spits at her and Rog stomps his hooves angrily. Robyn shushes him gently. “Shh it’s alright, Rog. It’s fine.”

Robyn flicks one her knives, cleanly severing his throat with a quick swipe. She drags his body over to the others. She is panting by the time she’s done and shivering as the sweat dries in the crisp air. She relinquishes all the bodies of their weapons and armor and piles them on top of each other.

She’s taking a sip of her waterskin when her fae ears pick up the sound of hooves and the shouts of soldiers. The man tied to the tree struggles and pulls at his bindings but doesn’t get anywhere. Robyn turns to her saddle bag and pulls out her pendant, slipping it over her head to rest at her chest. When the transformation finishes and the pendant stops glowing, she turns around to wait for the knights to catch up. She can’t hear them anymore as her pendant turns her senses completely humane. “You deamon! You’re hiding amongst the humans aren’t you. Pretending to be one of them. You’re a freak. You’ll never be one of them, you red bitch!”

Robyn marches over and punches him in his ratty face, sending his head whipping back into the tree. He yelps and pulls against his bonds angrily. She straightens up to greet the knights riding in, Percival and Gwaine in the lead. They pull their horses up short of her and dismount quickly, taking in the pile of bodies with silence. They both turn to the woman, about to demand what happened when there is a mutter behind her. Robyn steps to the side to reveal the man tied to the tree. Gwaine walks over and crouches down in front of him while Percival moves to inspect the pile of bodies with another knight at his side. Gwaine asks the man to repeat himself and he spits out along with a bit of blood. “That bitch… is a demon. She’s a fr-freak.”

Gwaine scowls and grips the knife in his thigh, twisting it minutely. “Say it again.”

The man wails and squirms in his bonds. “Please! It’s true. She turned into this creature. All bloody and purple eyes, glowing like stars. She’s a witch!”

Robyn cuts in quickly when Gwaine shoots her a questioning look. “It’s the knife. It’s one of the ones I poisoned. Gives one mild hallucinations. You can ask Gaius, he made it for me.”

“No! NO! I’m not poisoned! She’s a monster! All claws and demon eyes! I swear!”

Gwaine ignores him. “How long does it last?”

Secretly relieved she states. “A few hours, but we don’t have enough time. We need to extract information. The poison won’t hinder that.”

“Robyn.”

She turns to see Percival calling to her from the body pile, a solemn look on his face. Curiously, she leaves Gwaine to question the soldier as she walks over.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

It is the other knight that speaks, one she doesn’t know the name of but is scowling at her. “This. This is wrong, Dame Robyn. We try not to kill as much as possible. As a—"

“What, so they can heal up and come after you again?”

They go back and forth a few more times and Robyn feels like she’s talking to a stone wall, everything she says is just bouncing off him. Helplessly, she turns to Percival who has been staying silent this whole time, passively studying the bodies before him, his hand loosely on his sword the other at his belt. The next he speaks it is carefully, choosing his words wisely. “I believe that Dame Robyn acted in the only way she knew how, in the moment. She did what she had to, like any of us would.”

Robyn gives the man a smug look, albeit feeling a bit childish for doing so.

The man gives her a stern look and plows on. “As a knight of Camelot, you can’t be killing so mercilessly.”

“Well, good thing I’m not a knight of Camelot then, isn’t it?”

With that she whirls on her heel and strides over to Rog where he’s tethered to the tree as few paces away from everyone. He’s eyeing everyone morosely until he spots her, his tail swishes and he sidles up to her, his head bowed toward her hand. She rolls her eyes but smiles, her hands rubbing his nose and letting him nibble her fingers. Gwaine approaches from behind her. “What was that all about then?”

She rolls her eyes- she seems to do that a lot more now a days- and says. “Nothing. Just a disagreement between knights.”

Gwaine doesn’t seem convinced but lets it drop. “The border into the Northern Plains is just ahead. We will camp here for the night and set off in the morning. Get some rest, yea?” He clasps her shoulder. “And don’t let crazy over there get you worked up.” He gestures over to the Saxon tied to the tree who is still spitting obscenities about her fae form to anyone who passes. She thinks she catches a “red bitch” and a “hellion” in there with all the swearing but she ignores it. She sets up her bedroll on the outskirts of the group, wanting to be alone tonight. As she drifts off, she can’t hold back the words echoing in her head, _Freak! Devil! Abomination!_ They are sour in her mind and make her frown into her rolled up satchel. She knows she is in for a restless sleep.

*****

**TRIGGER WARNING FOR CHILD ABUSE**

_“Gods above, you’re a freak,” her mother states to her in disgust when she walks into the kitchen for her breakfast. Robyn turns around and leaves._

_*_

_“You’re the devil is what you are, you know that? No one will ever love you.” She hisses as she tidies up around where Robyn is sitting in the living area, drawing in a book._

_*_

_“I don’t want an abomination in my house, Lefan! Get rid of it.”_

_“Oh, and how am I supposed to do that?”_

_“Take it out back and wring it’s neck for all I care.”_

_*_

_A young girl with bright purple eyes brimming with tears scrambles to the floor, scooping up the shards of pottery littering the floor. She trembles when the door burst open and footsteps near where she’s crouched._

_“You little witch.”_

_Her head whips up only to be backhanded across the face. She is sent to the floor, where a strong, slender hand holds her face inches above the puddle created by the smashed vase._

_“Look at what you’ve done, you worthless bitch. Clean it up.” Her mother steps in the mess as she passes, treading in the water and crumbling pottery to a fine dust under her shoes. “All of it.”_

_The little red skinned girl lets the tears fall freely._

END TRIGGER

_*****_

Robyn bundles herself up tight the next morning, knowing they will be trekking through snow in a few hours. She pulls her cloak tight around her shoulders, already feeling the dropping temperatures. She sets out an hour before the rest of them, not speaking a word to anyone, wrapped up in her head as she is. She saddles Rog and takes off, in an hour meeting the snow she expected. She rides into the Plaines, barren of trees or places to hide. _It makes my job easier, I guess_. Robyn thinks as she plows through the snow, heading north. When she reaches a ridge, she climbs on top to see a massive tower set in the middle of the plain before her, sticking up in the sky, ominous in its dark stone and blank windows. It seems as if no one is inhabiting it, but Robyn knows better. Even if there are no fires light in the windows, Morgana is still housed inside, if the rumors Camelot have heard are true. She turns her back to the castle. Up high as she is, she is barely able to make out the dark clump of the convoy in the valley a few miles off. She steps down the hill towards to caravan, losing sight of the castle to an outcropping in the stone protected from the southern wind. She guides Rog away from the snow into a dirt patch where the southern blowing snow can’t reach and guides him to sit down, leaning her back against his side when they get comfortable. She waits for the procession to approach, keeping her eye on them as she shares an apple with her horse. She fiddles with one of her knives, growing bored. The next time she looks up is to see the procession scattering, knights running in every direction as something comes at them from behind. “ _Shit_.” She exclaims, sitting up and casting her eyes around for the threat. When she sees it, she curses the tiny specks in the distance, knowing she will never get there in time. “Fuck fuck _fuck!”_ she swears, saddling Rog and taking off for the valley. She knows it is futile, but she goes anyways, riding hard as she can, urging Rog through the snow. By the time she makes it a mile closer through all the snow and wind, many of the knights aren’t moving, wolves standing over them, their heads thrown back. Robyn can only assume their howling their triumph to the invisible moon. As she plows on, she waits for the dreadful moment the hungry wolves claim their reward, but they never do. Even after they stop howling, they just stand over the bodies as if they’re waiting. Robyn slows Rog to a stop, unnerved by this peculiar behavior. As she’s casting her eyes over the scene in front of her, she sees movement on top of the hill to her left, about fifty riders on horseback descending into the valley, pulling carts behind them. She watches in confusion as they load up the knights onto the carts and head back over the hill. Robyn continues to observe as the last minuscule knight is loaded and hauled away. She guides Rog to go after them. Following behind the Saxons, she stops on the closest ridge, watching from afar as they disappear inside the dark tower.

She crouches down behind Rog, pondering the reasons behind their being taken alive and not killed. _What does Morgana want with the knights alive? Why not kill them?_ _What could she possibly need with sixty men?_ She comes up frustratingly bewildered. Unloading all her weapons from her saddle, she armors herself and feeds the last of the food to Rog, keeping an apple for herself. She turns to Rog and takes his face in her hands, making him look at her. He peers back with intelligent amber eyes. Gods, she hopes this works. “Rog, I need you to go back to Camelot without me. Bring Arthur back here, alright? Gods, I don’t think you can understand me.” He snuffs and nudges her shoulder in what she believes to be a consoling gesture and trots towards the woods. She watches in amazement as he stops at the tree line and looks back at her, sending her a dip of his head before he takes off into the trees at a gallop. She huffs a wondered laugh and shakes her head. “Good lad,” She mumbles after him and turns toward the castle, sliding and stepping down to the base of the castle of Ismere.

She casts her eyes around, searching for a way inside. The cold bites at her, chilling her to the bone and making her hands stiff, urging her inside. She grabs an arrow and secures her grappling hook and rope to the end. Aiming at the rampart she releases, then tugs at the rope until it catches and doesn’t budge. Bracing herself she pulls herself up. Her cold muscles strain with effort, her bum hand burns savagely, even in her glove, against the rope. She hauls herself up, including all extra weight from her armor up and over the wall into the rampart, rushing quickly after that to get out of sight. She steps into the inner castle and sighs as decent warms floods her veins. Morgana must not be all cruel then, if she heats her castle with her magic. Robyn unwraps her scarf over her face and pulls off her pendant, giving no mind to the surge of goose flesh following the change. She quickly re-wraps her face in her scarf, the only part of her showing is the purple irises and the red strip of skin around them. She sighs, feeling safer in the comfort of her broadened senses. She hears no one approaching and moves to the lower floors, an arrow at the ready. She stops when she hears murmuring in one of the rooms, a plead of return, stopping to listen. She here’s a hushed soothing noise and Robyn blanches as the door is pushed open in front of her. She freezes, bowstring tight in her hand but no one exits. Instead a tail whips out as if an animal is turning in the doorway and slithers back inside. Her eyes widen and she darts forward, catching the door quietly before it closes. A peak inside shows her Morgana in her bed, tear stained face and stroking the hide of what can only be a very malnourished white dragon. All the air rushes out of her chest and she presses her back to the wall, eyes wide in shock at the scene she was just met with. She takes a deep breath and moves past the room. Pick your battles and all. Robyn is not picking that one.

Instead she picks the one at the end of the hall, two guards stand sentry and the corners. She loads another arrow and makes quick work of them with one release of her bowstring. Both arrows find their home in the necks of the two men and she catches one as he falls forward, tipping him back instead into the door behind him. She cracks it open to let his body fall through into the cupboard and drags the other body inside, ramming the door shut firmly behind her. She moves on past and down into the dungeons. She finds them curiously empty and is thoroughly confused at the sight. _Morgana just captured herself sixty of Arthur’s men. What did she do with them?_ She heads back up to the main hall and finds a guard to follow, letting him guide her into the depths of the castle. They walk for quite a ways, into carved out tunnels of excavated mines. Here she finds loads of men, all in shackles, pick axing their way through miles of rock below the castle. She watches curiously for a few moments. She marches through the labyrinth of tunnels, her garb giving her the appearance of one of the guards. Her hand digs into her pocket for her amulet and she hooks her hand through the thread. The familiar tingle follows, not as strong as before and easily broken, but there nonetheless, masking her appearance. Its hold is thread-thin though, just hooked over her hand. She grabs the shoulder of one of the guards standing sentry and yanks him to face her. He glares at her.

“Any success?” She asks roughly.

He shakes his head. “No sign of the Diamair.”

Robyn stalks away, processing this new bit of information. The Diamair, the key to all knowledge. Hidden here beneath the castle of Ismere, apparently. No wonder Morgana is here. She meanders into the depths of the caves as far as she can go, taking turns around marching guards until she sees daylight. A glimmer distracts her, catching the corner of her eye. She turns to see sunlight catching off a bit of metal in the corner. She moves over to it, curiosity peaked. She is astounded to find Gwaine there, sunlight glinting over his necklace. She looks him over, noticing the blood and bruise on his chest and the split at his hairline. She shakes him to no avail. Pokes him and nothing happens. She puts her finger under his nose and sighs in relief when she feels puffs of air against her finger. She calls to him quietly, still nothing. Purely for fun she lifts his hand, makes him smack himself, and drops his hand on his chest like a limp noodle while she giggles quietly. She ties his boot laces together just to be an arsehole and leaves him there when it’s clear he is not going to wake up. She thinks about relocating him, but he seems to be in a pretty well removed place, also she’s not up for lifting a grown-ass man, so she leaves him where he is. She steps out into the sunlight to find they are about a mile away from the castle. Robyn thinks, _perfect for an invasion._

Robyn removes her scarf to get some air. The freshness fills her lungs, making her sigh after all the humid air filled with male sweat and secretion of the tunnels. She loops her pendant back over her neck and re-wraps her scarf over her face. With a last glance at Gwaine on her way back into the labyrinth, she heads off to search the tunnels for Percival and the knights.

*****

By the time Robyn spots Arthur in the distance two days later, she’s gone without food and is fairly tired. Arthur is led by Rog and Robyn heads out to meet them. Sending high praise to Rog, scratching his chin and rubbing his side, she smiles weakly at Arthur and Merlin, everyone looking far worse for wear. Robyn jerks her chin at them. “What happened to you?”

Arthur responds. “We ran into a few traders who took us hostage. We’d still be with them if it wasn’t for your horse here. He galloped in and trampled the Saxons, helping us escape. Then he led us here. I’ve never seen a more intelligent horse.” Robyn beams at Rog, cooing to him softly. He snickers and leans into her, clearly pleased with the praise. Arthur rolls his eyes and urges them to focus on the task at hand. As Robyn saddles Rog, she looks down at Merlin and Arthur. “I’ll distract the Saxons, you get the knights out. I’ll lead you to the caves and go around the front to draw them out. I’ve been taking out a few guards the past few days so there’s only about thirty of them left.”

“How many were there to start with?”

“Oh ‘bout sixty.”

The two men stare after the woman as she rides away, surprised and bewildered.

“She’s kind of a savage, isn’t she?”

“Not kind of, Merlin.”

“There’s a lot we don’t know about her, isn’t there?”

Merlin stays quiet at Arthur’s inquisition and traipses after Robyn.

*

Shortly after Robyn leads Arthur and Merlin to the mouth of the caves, she skirts around the wall to the front entrance. Taking out the two guards with arrows as she rides up to the doors, she halts Rog and lights two of her arrows on the torches to the side. She bangs on the solid oak doors and as they swing inward, she rams inside, loosing her arrows into two of the wagons, catching them on fire and riling the horses. She takes down the guards on the ramparts with an arrow each into their chest before there is a stall in the fighting. She takes the moment to grab a shield from one of the downed guards and uses it to deflect the onslaught of arrows that fly at her from the battlements. As they reload their crossbows, she takes out four more and guides Rog behind one of the burning carts, keeping him safe from fire. She precariously balances herself on his saddle and rises to stand on his back, taking out the other three in quick succession. She jumps down and draws her rapier as men pour out into the yard, swords and weapons swinging. They all rush at her and she charges forward, rapier in one hand and knife in the other, a grim leer on her face. She pulls her scarf down from around her nose, taking in a deep breath before the first one swings for her. She deflects it and with a swift flick of her knife he goes down, clutching his throat. The next delivers an overhead strike which skitters off her shoulder with a clang. She slashes at his shoulder and kicks him before turning to another, receiving a blow to the gut that makes her wheeze. She staggers back and he advances with a jab of his sword. She pivots, the metal gracing her leather corset and jabs her own hand toward his neck. It flashes off his gorget, protecting his neck. She frowns. She doesn’t like it when they wear proper armor. It’s makes her job harder. She pivots with the arc of her shoulder and brings her leg up to connect with the man’s mailed stomach. It makes contact with a satisfying grunt and she shoulder rams him in the chest. As he falls back, two more men come at her from her right side.

Panting in exertion, she prays to the gods that Arthur and Merlin are making their way here as planned with the rest of the knights. She’s not up to her normal standards and she’s growing tired.

She readies to swing her rapier when hooves come out of nowhere, clobbering one of the men, sending him staggering away. She beams at Rog and blocks a swipe from the other, taking advantage of his stagger to sink her knife into his thigh. He yowls and crumbles to the floor. She yanks her knife out of his thigh and wipes it on his trousers. She turns around to see at least fifteen more men pouring out of the castle, weapons at the ready. She whines at the unfairness under her breath and readies herself to go down swinging.

Hollering from inside the castle and the clambering of footsteps makes most of the Saxons turn to look. Robyn sighs in relief as men she recognizes from the caves come pouring out covered in grime, pickaxes swinging. If anything, they’re recognizable from their lack of shirts. Many of them come flooding into the courtyard, engaging some of the men.

One of them sprints for her, a crossbow raised at her chest. Her heart leaps in terror. Throwing herself into a sprint, she brings her gauntlet to her face, ducking her head to hide behind it. When the man pulls the trigger, she swings her arm out, sending the arrow glancing off the armor and away from her face. Her feet carry her quickly towards him and she tackles him to the ground, raising her knife. She sneers down at him only to be met with a fist to the face, pain blossoming as her teeth sink into her cheek. Blood wells up in her mouth. She topples to the side and he rolls on top of her, arm pressing into her neck. She gasps and claws at the arm, knife easily wretched out of her hand. She vaguely thinks she hears a holler of her name. Blackness tingles at the edge of her vision and she sees the man straddling her stomach raise her own knife, about to bring t down swiftly for her to meet her end. A tickle starts at the back of her throat, tingling and irritating. She clenches her jaw and groans. The knife comes sailing toward her and she smacks in away. It’s feeble, but enough to bring the knife into the ground inches from her cheek instead of into her eye socket. Blackness is swimming in her eyes, her pulse pounding loudly in her ears. The prickling in the back of her throat rises up like bile and she lets it free, screaming in frustration. Clenched and cut off as it is, it’s still loud and startles the man on top of her enough for her to bring her elbow up and into his crotch making him topple off of her. She takes a deep gasping breath, painful in her lungs like needles. She shudders and curls on her side, promptly throwing up whatever remains in her stomach. However, her moment of respite is nearing to a close as he recovers. Her energy is depleting rapidly, her muscles feel like noodles, limp and uncooperative yet she feels a rolling in her chest, blinding and savage with anger. She knows it’s her fae itching to get out and tamps down on the magick. She crawls away as he reaches for her. His hand grasps her ankle in a steel like grip and she lashes out desperately. Her foot connects with his face with a satisfying crunch. As he recoils, she sits up and crawls towards him. Hauling herself on top of him, she straddles his chest like he did her, a mad glint in her eyes. Maybe she doesn’t have as good a hold as she thinks. She doesn’t waste any time bringing the knife down into his eye, listening to him howl and writhe beneath her. She takes a grim sort of satisfaction as he bleeds and she yanks the knife out, embedding it into his other eye. She lets her anger and fear roil and burn under her skin, her Newid form a wild thing she can’t temper.

She’s yanked the knife out and is poised to bring it down again when she vaguely registers her name being called once more. She ignores it in favor of swinging the knife once more but is halted as a strong arm grips hers and wrests the weapon out of her hand. She snarls, teeth bared and bloody as she is made to go, bringing her fist down instead on his face. Someone lifts her bodily off him and hauls her away, planting her on her feet before throwing her to the wall. She glares at the person restraining her to see Percival’s grim face staring down at her. 

“That’s quite enough.” He says, having no problem holding her to the wall with one big hand covering her breastplate. She huffs and thunks her head back into the wall, letting the spark of pain bring her back to the present. She feels the magick of her pendant stir under her skin, strengthening its hold now that she’s calming herself. Another deep breath and she opens her eyes, looking into Percival’s blue concerned orbs. She nods and he lets her go. She steps away from the wall, spitting blood on the ground and stalks towards the man. Percival steps up to intercept her but she merely bends down to retrieve her knife from next to the body, cleaning and sheathing it. As her heart rate slows, she casts her eyes around the courtyard, taking in the surrendered Saxons clustered in the middle surrounded by the knights. Merlin is off to the side, conversing with Arthur. He looks up and catches her eye, raising an eyebrow as he looks pointedly at the body by her feet before looking her in the eye. She shrugs and turns away, going to collect her rapier and as many arrows as she can.

Merlin finds her an hour later, dragging Gwaine with him and sits beside where she had collapsed on the rampart, too tired to do anything else. Gwaine sits on the other side, smushing Robyn in the middle. Merlin pulls a satchel onto his lap and opens it, offering an apple each to Gwaine and her. She bites into it and groans in appreciation. 

“By the Gods, that’s good. I haven’t eaten in days.”

Gwaine looks at her quizzically. “Where have you been? We’d been searching for you.”

“Bit difficult for you to do when you’re napping, eh Gwaine?”

He points an accusing finger at her. “Hey, I was dying. And that was all the Diamair. It kept me asleep. Damn well saved my life.”

“Where is it now?”

Merlin shrugs. “Don’t know. It vanished along with Morgana.”

There is a lull in the conversation as Robyn finishes off her apple and accepts the dried meat from Merlin. A few beats of silence, not uncomfortable but certainly tense. If the rigidity of Merlin’s spine sitting next to her is anything to go by, he’s got something on his mind. She sits still, waiting him out and when he slumps, she turns to him expectantly.

It takes him another moment to speak and when he does, it’s soft and worried. “Robyn… what was that, earlier? You… I don’t know what that was.”

Robyn stays silent for a second, fully aware of the undivided attention of the two men on either side of her. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, stumped on what to say without revealing her true nature. Her hand unconsciously comes up to grasp her pendant, hanging on to it for comfort. When she speaks its slow, picking each word carefully. “I was raised in a very dangerous world. Shortly before I came to Camelot, the man who raised me just up and left. I don’t know where he went and I don’t know why. But he didn’t come back and I had to live on my own for a few years. It was always kill or be killed. I had to do anything to make sure I stayed alive. It was just me for a long time. I was alone, no money, with no one to talk to or pull me back... I have a lot of anger and fear. I didn’t… I let myself go in order to survive. I had to fight people and things that I wasn’t prepared for. I’m not proud of some of the things I did. I have a problem sometimes, transitioning back to this humane life. When I’m caught in a fight all that adrenalin, fear and anger… makes me lose who I am. And revert back to who I used to have to be.”

She lets out a long breath she didn’t know she was holding. Even though she didn’t reveal the whole truth, it still feels alleviating to get some of that off her chest and share it with her friends. Friends. Heh. Hasn’t had those in a while. She leans back from her unconsciously hunched position and back against the stone, sighing. Her shoulders brush against Merlin’s and Gwaine’s. No one says anything and she lets out a shaky breath. Gwaine offers her a waterskin and she takes it but doesn’t drink.

“Thank you for telling us. I think I can speak for Merlin when I say, we will help you control this in whatever way we can. We have your back.”

Robyn looks between the two of them, seeing nothing but care and honesty. She pushes back the lump in her throat and pecks their cheeks, first Merlin then Gwaine. Seeing both their surprised faces she snorts. With a fair bit of squirming, she pulls the cloak from around her shoulders and drapes it over all three of them, everyone scooting closer to fit.

“I tied your shoelaces, by the way.”

A grunt and a swift blow to her knee is all she gets in response and she huddles down, away from the cold. She may ache with injury and be covered in blood, but right now she is going to sit with her _friends_ and rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has a lot of Robyn on her own but I’m a real introvert, so I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m projecting. Sorry if characters spending time alone is annoying or boring.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beautiful beta Smuternatural. A true blessing. Follow me on Tumblr. Same tag. DaisyAnneWinchester. Please leave kudos and comments if you liked it! It's my first fic and I'm hungry for validation. Enjoy!


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